


Covenant of Sun and Moons

by ChatoyantPenumbra



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!, Yu-Gi-Oh! 5D's, Yu-Gi-Oh! Series
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Original, Angst, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Body Horror, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Fantasy, Horror, I Won't Spoil You - Freeform, Implied Synchroshipping, Insanity, Just Kidding It's Very Explicit Synchroshipping, M/M, Original Universe, Other, Psychological Horror, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smut, Will Update Tags and Characters As They Appear - Freeform, gay horror, i guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-01-18 15:02:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 61,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12390495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChatoyantPenumbra/pseuds/ChatoyantPenumbra
Summary: A foreign prince's grasp on what he knows to be reality is about to shatter violently when he meets a scarred man with a cryptic past. They both discover nothing is as it seems, and the only trustworthy realities are that of the powers of the Mire and their ability to corrupt everything.





	1. A Displaced Prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lately I've been really caught up with life but I really wanted to get back into writing the longform fic I have waiting for me so with Halloween cheer, have some horror! It's set in the same original universe as The Grail of The Dragonstone, but in a different time period. It's meant to be a one-shot but I might or might not continue with this.

His hands were ice as he trekked along the vast expanse of the winter forest, a stinging owl nearby filling the night with her lamented call, making it echo off of the endless trees for leagues upon leagues in all directions until it faded into the gloomy distance to be swallowed by quiet. By now, all of the birds were asleep, as were the deer, rabbits, and small four-leggeds that called this expansive grove its home. 

 

The dead of winter, and his hands were ice.

 

The Prince was very far from his home, disorientingly so, and his heart ached for the hot sands that always permeated warmth throughout his body through the soles of his feet, but his feet were now cold just as his hands, protected by sheepskin socks and leather boots lined on the insides with fur ever still. He was not used to the cold, nor would he ever be. He was a Prince of Heat and Light, named after the God of Sun in his lands that were so impossibly far now; it was as if all of it had been merely a fever dream, as if the first twenty years of his life had been a figment of his vivid imagination born out of desperation for solace from the harsh cold of this land. 

 

A howl filled the frigid air, and its powerful vibration caused him to stop with a gasp that condensed and froze instantly in a puff of white upon contact with the space in front of his face. Had it been day, the birds would have taken to the air, spooked. But they did not, slumbering in their hollows and shielded by the wrath of the wind and all the creatures that were frightening and uncompromised enough to lurk comfortably in it. His head whipped in the direction of the sound, never having heard the call of a beast that sounded so large or terrifying until now. It was as if whatever had yowled into the frozen sky had enough space within its lungs to fit a man or two, and the power to resonate such a noise to shake the atmosphere that the creature surely could crush said man or two with the sheer power of contracting muscles in its chest.

 

Atem’s lavender eyes reflected ruby in the night as he held up the lamp clutched in his lithe fingers frozen in their curl around the metal, his gloves doing little now to shield him from the loss of feeling he had begun to experience hours ago. The full moons shone down on him, bathing the dark forest in a pale white but doing nothing to expose what may have lurked in the shadows just beyond his feeble elven sight. 

 

It was not easy to scare the Prince, but frightened he was, and surely the stench of his fear would permeate the air, picked up easily by the creature lurking less than a league away. The words of his father echoed in his hollowed mind, bringing some measure of bravery back into his form like a seeping warmth, as if for just a moment he was surrounded again by the sands of the far southwest, in dunes and oases so ignored by this land of Klengard and all of its people that it barely showed up in any of its maps. 

 

_ “The demeanor of a future king is everything; it is his power, his authority. If you cower in fear, you will inspire nothing in your people but the same. You cannot be fit to lead if you do not stand.” _

 

It was as if he could almost catch the dry scent of the sands and temple incenses on the air, and his terror was lost with the comfort he found in that.

 

Until the howl came again, much closer than it had been before.

 

Atem clung to his courage so hard it would have to be pried from his frozen, dead hands if it were a physical item, if he were in as much danger as he suspected he was. Up ahead something dark and amorphous dashed back into the cover of even deeper shadow, something vile, covered in thick fur and seething hot air from a maw lined with teeth as sharp as blades that glinted threateningly in the moonlight. Bloodlust was tangible as his body suddenly felt covered in spider legs, creeping over every inch of cold-numb skin and making every hair stand on end in attention, stomach lurching down past his groin in horror and back again with a disgusting  _ snap _ . 

 

His mind reeled, going too fast and spinning backwards over itself like he had found himself in Mahad’s apothecary chamber once more and made the mistake of peering into one the ancient texts the man had trustingly left unclosed. The sheer emotion was overwhelming; would he retreat? Surely he could not go forward, and straying off the path was a fool’s choice. If he were to run into the thick of trees he would surely be hunted and killed and his body never found, if there was even anything left of it to show he had existed and tread in this direction. This land belonged to whatever in Mire he had seen before him, the great beast bathed in shadow and its sheer size enough to snap his body in half with so much as a light pounce. He was not a tall man; he was strong and courageous for his size but  _ never _ tall like his cousin and mages. 

 

He willed his frozen legs to move, taking him back the way he came with a stiff panic. His boots crushed snow into compacted ice with each step, and he feared it was so loud that it could be heard for leagues, alerting every predator nearby of his presence. The Prince was certain his fright hung thick in the air with every exhale, as potent as rot, and in an attempt not to lead the creature behind straight to him with its smell, he suppressed his breath, as if it would do anything to hide him from the shadow lurking behind, masked by darkness with a  _ crystal  _ clear view of its prey.

 

Its ferocious razor teeth dripped saliva that steamed in the frigid breeze, still hot with the heat of its massive body as its large paws padded ever so softly against the cold, and in some places, icy patches of earth. Dried leaves and broken branches crackled beneath the might of its steps only occasionally, alerting the future monarch that he was very much being stalked.

 

Atem’s jaw ached with how hard it was set, but he noticed it not in the wake of his wracked nerves as he glanced constantly back, his eyes only ever shifting forward to make sure he stumbled not over rocks or uneven patches of ground. He didn’t notice the will-o’-wisps that emerged from the trees, drifting slowly parallel to his movement as more and more in the direction he retreated towards were woken by his terrified presence.

 

His fear was smelled by all.

 

A snarl echoed into the thicket, drawing his head snapping back as if it were on a well-oiled swivel. His heart nearly jumped out of his chest when a pair of reflective and glowing sapphire eyes appeared and disappeared back into the nothingness of black, but it was enough to shove him over the threshold of panic. In his mother tongue, a swear ripped from chapped lips no louder than a desperate whisper.

 

He ran.

 

His lungs were charred with the scalding burn of ice and his legs felt nothing, nothing, absolutely nothing as he was pumped to the brim with adrenaline licking every inch of his being and consuming his innards like a daemon summoned straight from the Mire would feast on the freshly brutalized body of a mortal.

 

Paws clawed into the ground with a thundering sound and he knew now he was dead, beyond dead; he could feel himself rotting in the ground with the maggots tearing slowly at his marrow and feasting like beggars on what little had had been left of his corpse when the savage abomination with eyes as blue as the fucking sea chasing him had stripped his bones of meat, stained the forest path with his sanguine, and shattered his biggest and strongest bones for chew-things as remuneration for the trouble of having to chase feeble prey such as he.

 

The will-o’-wisps moved ever still, gliding with a disturbing grace and steadiness, closer, closer. He ran, and suddenly he was surrounded by softly-glowing lights, up ahead and far behind with a vicious animal at his heels. He glanced not behind for he could not afford to lose a single nanosecond of agility, but he could hear its sickening snap of jaws and stentorian snorts and snarls just dozens of feet behind him and gaining quickly.

 

Dead he was. Dead as his mother and all princes and kings before him. Done in by a  _ fucking Klengardian monster _ , thousands of leagues away from home with not a single familiar face at his side and no one to know how, where, when he had perished. His swords would do him no service against the thousand knives in that gnashing maw. He was a Dramyrian elf, his blood was magick, but magick worked none against demons of this status. He would die.

 

Wisps around him merged, glowing brighter, colder, with more intensity until a cruel blade emerged from its light, its ghostly edge curving into a reaping sickle. Atem’s horror-filled amethysts gaped helplessly as the demented faceless ghost kept his exact speed, like a swarm of gnats he couldn’t shake.

 

Snapping teeth, lazuline glowing eyes, undead scythe, thundering paws, hovering ghost, teeth, scythe, teeth, scythe.

 

The blade pulled back now, ready to sever his head from his neck, and the launching snarl he heard behind him awakened something intrinsic within his being. He ducked from both, his body hitting the path with a thud so painful that it shot through his whole being and his chest felt like a hammer had smashed it violently open. A sharp rock sliced a line clean through the skin of his cheek to his angled jawline, flooding his neck with blood but the least of his worries. The grotesque black beast crashed into the luminous form of the will-o’-wisp and the two went furling farther down the path in a clamor of earsplitting shrieking and roaring. The monster was a wolf, as he could now see, and for the exigent moment it sank the feral daggers it called a mouth into a face that was not a face. Atem’s exhausted arms shoved him to an immediate stand as soon as he realized he was somehow, impossibly, alive, and he sprinted in a beeline for the thick of the coppice against all best judgement.

 

It was a ditch attempt. Staying in sight would end surely in death. He had to play the Fool’s Piece.[1]

 

Wind and blonde bangs whipped against his face. He rushed up and over large roots, down and under low-hanging branches of the pines and spruces, plunging deeper, deeper into the shadow of forest. The only thing he could hear was the whistle of wind high in the tops of the trees above him and the sound of his own haggard breathing, licked by intolerable flames like his lungs and throat had been stripped of their top layer of flesh. His body ached and he did not stop. His legs were numb and he kept running.

 

A brief clearing up ahead drew his desperate attention, a cabin with a vague warm glow in the cracks of its windows and front door such a welcome sight that his raggedly breathless voice released a paradoxical curse of praise. 

 

He sprinted to its entrance, a final burst of adrenaline filling him up and crashing him directly into the door with a startling bang. It rattled but did not give, the hinges staying on as if unbothered by his proximity to a violent death. His frozen hand that had long since dropped his lantern curled numbly around the knocker and hammered it twice against the wooden face, and impatiently again twice more when the door didn’t fly open within a half of a second. 

 

Wine hues flashed up to eye level, only to latch onto a poster nailed to the door. It had not been there just a second before or he would have surely smashed a hole into his eye upon his bone-rattling impact with its surface. A warrant letter, with a man’s grim face sketched onto it. He cared none for it as he rattled the door again, demanding frenzied entry. It barred him still. 

 

A howl deafened him, sounding close behind, too close. Gooseflesh rose on every inch of skin that already anticipated with horror being ripped from his bones. He couldn’t, wouldn’t be seen again by this Mire-born fiend, not if it fucking killed him. Taking two steps back he rammed his whole body into the door and it cracked open like clam shucked by a sharp knife.

 

The cold was gone. 

 

The blood conglomerating on his neck, gone. The pain, the exhaustion, the stiffness, the insufferable breathlessness. The only thing that remained was his hand clutched violently on the knocker handle and the stinging adrenaline that had filled his veins like a fire that would consume all of him if he didn’t regain his composure quickly. He was covered in sweat that clung his clothes to his skin like hot sickness.

 

Atem stood ever in the doorway with the door cracked just inches open, looking back to see a town around him. The poster on the door was gone; it never existed in the first place and he could feel his mind warping, reeling, doing fucking backflips to catch a grasp on the godsforsaken situation. His lantern was back in his left hand, and fuck,  _ fuck _ ,  **_fuck!_ ** — _ what the  _ **_FUCK_ ** _ was happening to him?! _

 

He threw the lantern like it was crawling with diseased maggots as his mouth split open in a scream, staggering back and falling into the damp mud-soil just below the elevated wooden porch he shouldn’t have been standing on. A bearded and middle-aged human sent him a disdained look as he stepped over him to get to the door of the inn, pushing it open after a disgusted,  _ “What in Mire Dragon’s cursed shit is wrong with you elves?” _

 

The Dramyrian Prince shook hard against the earth, struggling to his feet and swiping the mud off his ass with much less disgust than he would have given his current state. His wary gaze flickered behind him again. Not a wolf in sight, nor a scythe-wielding fusion of will-o’-wisps. He checked once more, to his right, then to his left. Only townspeople, and some were beginning to stare. Drunken humans at this hour of night were normal; foreign elves, with the capability to burn down whole villages in the event of an emotional frenzy, showing signs of insanity, were not.

 

His hands still shook violently, uncontrollably, but as he took another swipe to rid his hind side of muck, he stood and headed up the step to the entrance of the inn, picking up his lantern and blowing it out in a single motion, and quickly pushing the door open thereafter to escape the eyes of a half-dozen concerned citizens and a piss-drunk town guard. 

 

The inside reeked of ale and mead, fresh bread, and the stench of the three tens of men consisting of travelers, mercenaries, and topers. 

 

Atem’s eyes scanned across the room, drinking from his surroundings like the men around him did from their horn tankards. He knew exactly where he was, in exactly which town, because he had come here of his free will. What felt like a lifetime ago, a fever dream, a vague thought amid a thousand distractions, today, he had planned to rest here for the night.

 

His wine orbs searched the room again. There was an itch on the corner of his consciousness that he could not scratch, burning, seething for attention until at last he lay eyes on it.

 

There was a man, sitting in the corner by his lonesome with a bowl of stew and a flagon before him, idly scratching his full head of black, windswept hair streaked with blond. The Prince would have sworn it was the same person as he had seen on the poster just moments ago had it not been for the giant scar that marred the man’s left cheek in a jagged, painfully crooked line from his eye down to his jaw, a striking feature he did not recall. A pair of haunting sapphire eyes flickered up to lock, as if coincidentally, with his. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 The "Fool's Piece": in an elven board game of war, much like chess, there is a piece that plays by its own rules with very few restrictions, but with every turn after its first use, the advantages by the pieces playing against it grow until it is ensnared and taken off the board by being “killed.” Therefore the elven idiom, “The Fool's Piece” is used to describe someone who plays by their own rules until they are eventually killed by it.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, and please leave a comment to share how you felt about this one-shot!


	2. The Tavern

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really debated continuing this but here I am, and I'm anticipating finishing it to the end! It's going to be medium- to long-form by my estimation. Also I ended up cutting down this chapter a lot from what I had originally intended because I didn't want to drag on too long with its content and hit morale so low I didn't want to publish, so I think from here on out I'm going to try to keep chapters a bit short and publish more often.
> 
> Enjoy!

Taverns in Dramyria were far less clammy and humid than this one, but perhaps just as noisy and crowded. When he had left his palace with a solemn and hopeful goodbye from his father, he passed through a couple, resting in one of them along the waterside in the night prior to his departure aboard a trading ship. Mahad had organized the trip as an act of fond farewell, as he was concerned for his prince’s safety leaving familiar lands and was painfully aware of how it was the last act of protection he could offer. Atem had been cloaked, hooded, in order to conceal him from the eyes of anyone that may have wished ill upon the only child of the Dramyr King; but even then with his shadowy appearance, barely anyone batted an eyelash at him in the streets and the house of beer, as the port towns were used to travelers, some of whom were fleeing persecution in the north Elven lands of Athuesil or the northeastern continent of Klengard. Their cloudy beers were fine and rich with freshly ground and half-baked breads, making the air sweet with its smell, something, he noticed, Klengardian taverns were severely lacking, with their stench of men in armor and damp animal hides used as cloaks that had yet to dry from sweat or water.

 

As Atem moved inside, his wary wine hues were careful to map out the layout of the main room, noticing that there was a hallway on the far corner that led to several closed doors, and he imagined they had to be rooms for travelers to retire in, after they had rented the space for a couple silver claw. How anyone in gods’ names would sleep in this racket was beyond him, but he supposed he would have to make due tonight, even if it meant sandwiching his head between two hides to drown out the sound.

 

Several men around him shouted to each other in lighthearted humor, their group of patrons bursting into laughter just moments later. Atem stepped around them, pointed ears ringing in recoil of the commotion. His heart still thrummed like a frightened jackrabbit within his chest, hammering against his ribs as if begging to be let out to burn off the rest of its stored adrenaline. Nevertheless he ignored it, pushing back with the weight of his own thoughts.

 

_ I’m safe. There was never any danger. _

 

He made his way to the barkeep, a man of looming height even to the average male but gentle disposition, and upon leaning against the counter the giant turned to him with bushy brows raised after handing off a pair of tankards to two awaiting guests. His voice vibrated like it had awoken from deep within the earth instead of the man’s own vocal chords.

 

“What can I get you?”

 

“Anything to chase the chill, and a room for the night.” Atem’s voice was lilted with his native accent, and it was clear that the towering male had caught onto it with the way he cast a brief look-over to assess his appearance. It wasn’t an action done out of hostility, even if the man’s dark brown eyes did linger briefly on his swords and ears—something now he was growing to hate—but a matter of observing who posed a threat in his place of business, and who did not. The Prince clearly passed the test as a pair of lips pulled into a lopsided grin, and the giant nodded with his head towards one of the few unoccupied tables across the room.

 

“Make yourself comfortable, traveler. I’ll allow no cold to remain long here.”

 

Atem’s hand withdrew into the folds of his cloak, withdrawing a coin purse and a golden piece from it and laying it flat against the pinewood bar. The titan eyed it, hesitating and wondering if Atem were so new to their country that he didn’t understand their money before managing a considerate, “Our prices aren’t that high here.” While it was true the currency was not one that he was used to, the Prince knew every value of every Klengardian claw like the back of his hand with how many history and world lessons Isis had drilled into his brain. He could recall all of their past values with every flux of deflation and inflation within the last millennium if asked.

 

“For your hospitality.”

 

The larger man gave a gesture of thankfulness as Atem turned from the bar, his eyes falling on the person of ultimate interest just a handful of feet away from where the empty table was. The scarred face was angled just slightly down as he tinkered with something in his hands, his half bowl sitting completely forgotten as he absently brought another sip of mead to his lips. He tinkered some more, ignoring a woman that stumbled lightly into his table and caused it to knock against his elbows. She passed, and he continued on with whatever he was doing, passively absorbed but not looking incredibly dedicated. 

 

Another sip from his tankard, and then a languid spoonful of meat, chewing absently as he toyed. Food not so forgotten, the Prince noted with just a twinge of humor. 

 

Atem decided to stop staring lest someone notice him, and he continued past the fire, walking more slowly beside it to bask in its heat for just a moment longer. He sat at last with his back to the mystery man in the only wooden chair at his table with a skin laid over it for comfort, setting his now-cold lantern at his feet and peeling off his gloves. He flexed them, regaining a sense of being in his own body as he gazed down at the grooves in his hands and fingers, the finest details elusive to sight in the low lighting of candles and wall sconces. 

 

The sound of a harp began near the center of the room where a Wildekin’s talons plucked at its strings. He had read of the creatures in the hundreds upon hundreds of books of foreign lands he had read in his lifetime, even met a family of two of a scaled kind in the court of his palace, but seeing one of avial nature was a first. Part animal and part human, their kind had mostly assembled in the sands of the west peninsula and Kincardine, a civil capital for egalitarian Klengardians and possibly the most diverse city in the known world. Common knowledge was the further east in the continent a person went, especially on the other side of Shattersword Pass, the less non-human faces that person would see. The far east was ridden with prejudice and discrimination—even humans that were druids and magick-users were scorned and misunderstood—and for someone with brown complexion, foreign swords, and veins filled with sorcery such as he, not a place he was willing to travel to alone.

 

Atem sat back in his chair, letting the tension and aching in his shoulders release as he drew in a slow inhale and allowed his lungs to fill completely before sighing. His body still retained tautness no matter how much he willed it to leave, and he had to remind himself once again that he was safe, surrounded by possibly two dozen sellswords and a dozen more armed men. 

 

A pair of gargantuan hands appeared before him with large bowl of steaming stew and a generous slice of bread, one of the five fisted flagons in his hand set down beside the food. The man’s thunderous voice filled the space but interrupted no one’s conversation, drawing only the attention of a raven-haired individual behind them and his pair of sapphire eyes. “I can show you to your room when you’re ready.”

 

Atem thanked him as the giant left to attend to his other patrons, but his own eyes were locked on the bowl before him, the spoon already steeped in its body. Oil was glossy on its surface, and the Prince’s stomach released a growl that would have surely embarrassed him had its sound not been drowned out by the ceaseless chatter. 

 

He uttered a word of thanks to his gods before steeping the chunk of bread into his steaming meal, and the fibers instantly drew the soup into itself like a warm embrace of old friends. The grease clung as a gorgeous red, saturated with flavor so irresistible that it caused his mouth to exude saliva as another whiff caressed his nose. 

 

Comfort in a bowl, and he found he could hold himself back no longer. The taste of earthen spices not foreign but not familiar permeated through his mouth, and when he grasped his spoon and lightly scraped it against the bottom to move the contents that had settled, he found meat and potatoes, simmered for so long that the blunt edge of his woodenware cut delightfully into them like a hot knife through lard. His utensil stopped at a thin bone, which he fished out and was careful to eat around, dropping it thoughtlessly onto the small plate on which the bread had come. Pheasant, he guessed. He vaguely wondered how they had managed to make such a lean animal so delicious before forgetting it along with the rest of his worries and digging in. 

 

It was no palace cooking, but gods, it chased away the cruel, icy fingers of discomfort like nothing else, and he reveled in the sweet relief. 

 

Just behind him, a scarred countenance gazed at his back laden with black and red furs, lingering for a moment before flickering up to the chromatic hair so unfamiliar, and yet the ghost of something akin to a memory tapped on the edge of his consciousness as if just barely remembering, like a word on the tip of his tongue that he could not manage to speak into existence. 

 

The man shifted with discomfort, the heat of his cloak suddenly unbearable as pinpricks of fire lit up on his nape. However even in spite of that and the warmth of the room he kept his tan leather gloves on, the fingers concealed within them curling around irregularly-shaped pieces of shining metal and rolling one absently between his thumb and forefinger. 

 

He ran an unoccupied hand through one side of his windswept hair and over the back of his neck to appease the unpleasant needles, and his azure gaze shifted from the object of his curiosities to the tavern around them. He would have gone back to the solace of his own thoughts had he found nothing of interest. 

 

But he didn't. 

 

Another two pairs of eyes stared not at him, but at the foreigner just a couple feet ahead of him, sitting by his lonesome and absorbed in the meal he had been served. One gaunt man, the vastly thinner of the two, leaned in towards the ear of the other, and sapphire hues caught the movement of speech as the burlier male’s gaze shifted to one of dire confoundment, as if he had just been informed of his family’s murder. 

 

Back were the spider legs on his neck, prickling and itching like hot fever that wouldn't have been satisfied with a mere hand to calm it had he tried. His instincts were now knocking at his cognizance with slow and booming intensity, like the toll of a clapper against its massive bell, the harbinger of something nasty and imminent. 

 

His hands stopped their tinkering immediately, scooping the pieces he had in front of him off the side of the table and into the open mouth of his bag, never once taking his eyes off of the two who contrasted so harshly against the backdrop of the others in a setting that should have been jovial and filled with boasts of exaggerated adventures and lighthearted conversation. The larger man’s balding head turned back towards the form of the one who had spoken to him first, the doubt but clear concern a vivid pale white that had no place in a warm room such as this.

 

The taller man at last rose from his seat, his visage darkened by a haunted hatred as he dragged his axe from its lean against the table and cast a threatening shadow that danced before him like a daemon between flames. The first purposeful step in the foreigner’s direction was all it took to convince gloved fingers to wrap around the hilt of his greatsword, the mere texture of its decorated steel preparing him subconsciously for battle. 

 

He took not the baldric with him when he too rose. He knew killing intent when he saw it, and he normally would take no part in minor scuffles, but this was far from a bar fight yielding only fists and perhaps a few lost teeth. An elven head would roll, painting the wooden floors with sanguine. He could barely live with himself as it was; he wouldn’t have an innocent party’s death on his hands when the poor magickal had just walked in looking like he was shaking off the sight of undead.

 

That, and a death prompted alert guards. He couldn’t have that either.

 

His steps were quick, boots clacking dully against the wood as he watched the other quicken, still having taken no notice of him with how his eyes were locked on Atem like wild hyena on prey. His lips furled over his yellowed teeth in a grimace, but despite his unassuming appearance he harbored a fiery anger in beady eyes. 

 

Up swung the axe, catching a few half-drunken gazes but still too soon for anyone to register what was happening, and Atem still sat with his back turned to the both of them, unawares to the peril he was in. Just as rapidly as it was readied, the curved edge of the weapon swung down to cleave the unsuspecting Prince in half. Yusei’s foot caught the back leg of chair he sat in first, throwing it and the man in it to the side with the force of his momentum. Where he and his chair had been, the blade of the axe crashed with such force into the flooring that it wedged right into the wooden panels it split apart.

 

The harp came to an abrupt stop, as well as all of the prattling and laughter in the tavern. Suddenly, it was ghostly quiet as dozens of eyes snapped to the scene, to the sickly-looking balding man’s struggle to unwedge his blade from the floorboards as he cursed, the younger male that stood a full head shorter than him and perhaps only half his age wielding a two-handed sword in defense, and the elf of similar physical maturity sprawled out on the floor like he had tripped and fallen backwards over his chair in the most uncouth way possible. 

 

No one dared to step forward lest they be targeted as well, and those in their proximity scrambled back to a safer distance; their gazes all flickering cautiously between the three as if trying to figure out who had been the instigator, if not two or all of them simultaneously. 

 

The scarred man was the first to speak directly to the attacker, the nape of his neck bristling and lapis eyes wide to catch every twitch of movement happening around him. “You think it’s a good idea to attack people unarmed?  _ Where in gods’ names do you come from? _ ”

 

The hyperawareness of everything at once seared his mind like hot coals on flesh, but he focused not on that as the toll of danger in his brain chimed louder and louder. The blade finally freed from its splintery prison, the assailant’s bottomless black eyes locked on him now as he swung again, this time down on a head of black hair with speed unforeseeable. This guy was far too big to move with an agility like that, he thought, but the observation fled as quickly as it had come as he had to move immediately, dodging to the right only to slam his hip into a table with the narrow space. The cringe that pulled his lips into a snarl over his white teeth gave him the appearance of an enraged lion as a small lock of his black mane was sheared off. 

 

“My wife,  _ that fucking elf—! _ How can you defend ratshit like him?”

 

His heart slammed violently against his chest; he had no desire to be split in half or feel the excruciating pain of yet another area of his body slashed gruesomely open. His figure moved before he gave it permission, and within the blink of an eye he was upon his opponent, driving him staggering back with the feral ruthlessness he saw in the boy’s eyes before he was forced to block the powerful blow with the handle of the colossal axe. The sound of metal clashing filled the air of the tavern with a reverberating ring and all eyes were locked on them as they were locked in a struggle of leveraging pressure against each other.

 

“ _ What about your wife? _ ” he grit, shoving his body harder into the battle of strengths. He couldn’t have possibly anticipated the heave that was returned, but it sent him stumbling back a step as a barrage of three strikes landed on his sword so rapidly he could barely deflect them. The sour twang of steel against steel rang out for all, but none of them could do anything but watch as the heat of battle only burned hotter. It seemed no one breathed as they all concernedly stared with bated breath, wondering if one of them would end up pulled into this fight and every soul hoping it wouldn’t be them. This was none of their business, and no one knew enough of the situation to be able to take sides at face value, never mind certain enough to put their life on the line to assist. That was the way of Klengardian people: sticking one’s arm in a fight when it didn’t belong there was a quick way to have it removed, and the owner likely die of exsanguination following that punishment.

 

“You must want a piece of her too, then; that’s it,  _ isn’t it?! _ You’re both in this together?!”

 

The broken logic and hysteria disturbed him, rattling his consciousness in a way that made his body seize in a hard clench. “I saw you attack an unsuspecting magickal that hadn’t even walked in moments ago;  _ how in Mire would I know either of them? _ ” 

 

The question went unanswered as both of these men seemed out for blood now, like two vicious dogs in the street fighting over food that neither of them would attain if they killed each other off like they intended. Conversation was forgotten like rotten garbage, tossed out in order to make way for bloodlust. The bell thrummed ever still against the mind of a scarred face, vibrating with such intensity now that it drowned out all sound but that of his own heightened breathing and the rush of blood in his veins, licking angrily at every capillary and artery.

 

Their weapons clashed, again and again, until the axe had split open several tables and a chair like ripe pumpkins in fall. The larger of the two was already beginning to show signs of exhaustion, heavy breathing dragging his large armored chest and shoulders up in down in heaving motions. The win was so close he could smell it; soon he would have the tip of his sword aimed at this brute’s throat, and it would be over. The bell would stop, he would be able to think again, and he would regain some sense of fucking peace when he could go back to his table and finish what was left of his food and drink if it hadn’t been knocked to the floor in the fray. It would be over.

 

Or so he thought.

 

Just like that stunt he had pulled earlier, he found his own feet kicked out from under him—a coward’s move even by the standards of others as a hushed gasp broke out, a few people standing with their weapons ready in case things took a drastic turn for the worse. Those who fought without honor were regarded with instant disdain and aggression here, and as a head of black and blonde hit the ground with a looming body over him, a pair of hire-swords creeped closer with gleaming blades glinting the dancing light of the fire pit behind them. 

 

The axe was drawn high into the air, and gods, sapphire eyes saw death before him, the nameless barbarian above him bearing semblance to a headsman, as if  _ his head _ was on a chopping block and his time to cease living was now.

 

Frantic arms shoved his greatsword above him in a ditch attempt to block, his mind already reeling at the realization that dying was nigh. He deserved it, and the war within himself between the savage beast called instinct to live and the resigned man he had become after years of living disgusted with himself ripped each other to shreds just long enough that he could feel his body dissolve into the adrenaline like ingredients into an alchemist’s solvent of a potion.

 

The strike came at last, shooting so much recoil through hands, arms, and shoulders that the impact felt it would shatter his bones to dust as his elbows slammed back into the flooring. With a sickening metal  _ snap _ he saw his blade break in two under the force, breaching his one and only defense to save his life.

 

His teeth bore, and every wrongdoing, injury, and murder he had witnessed himself commit flashed before his eyes, their tortured and lifeless expressions having burned into his cornea and coming back to haunt him now at the time of his own perishing. 

 

The blade quickly approached, and he felt it slice into his skull and wedge him open like the floorboards with a splitting pain that made him want to scream with so much agony that the Three Archaic Dragons at their corners of Vamora and the Mire would hear him cry.

 

The feeling never came.

 

The axe blade above him had been reduced to nothing but hovering shards, what was left intact just a measly steel pole stopped an inch from his nose. A gold tint shimmered in the air around the shards, and it faded only to drop the pieces in clattering flecks of scrap on the wood. 

 

A pair of boots came into view just right of his face, clicking against the floor as two glowing hands clutched something invisible in his grasp, mimicking holding the worthless piece of metal in the axeman’s grip and clenching it so hard that the bones of his hands stood out harshly against his smooth, tan skin. What was left of his weapon warped gruesomely out of shape, as if had been crushed by the heat and fire of the earth and returned to molten with the gleam of gold and violent bending into a  _ z _ shape. 

 

“You would slaughter a man whose only offense was saving a stranger’s life?”

 

Atem’s hand shoved forward, and his attacker was shoved in an identical motion backwards to the floor like an unwilling wild dog forced by a strict master to lie down. With amethyst eyes alight with ferocity he stared down into the struggling face that spat curses upon him. Their gazes connected, and as if all of the anger had been sucked out of him, the man stilled and grew quiet. His eyes became listless, staring forward as if he was suddenly inebriated beyond the ability to think.

 

All of the tavern was quiet. Only the crackling of the fire remained.

 

A single voice in the crowd broke the silence.

 

“Is he dead?”

 

Whispers among them grew like little sparks cradled within tinder, until the mountainous form of the barkeep and owner pushed his way through the idled watching of humans to grab the source of all of his troubles tonight by the scruff of his furs, trying to drag him up to his feet. The warrior seemed drained of all vitality as he stood, slumped over like a child woken in the middle of the night. The giant seemed to have none of it, his gaze briefly connecting with Atem and the scarred male at his feet in a passive and consenting glance to allow them to remain, before shoving the lesser man in his arm out the door—and by Atem’s best guess, to the guards—and shutting it so hard after him the wood rattled in complaint.

 

A shadowy form rose beside the Prince, cringing in pain as he flexed his gloved hands and picked up the two pieces of his own sword in defeat after scanning the crowd to search for the man their aggressor had seemed to be influenced by, but unable to find him. Atem turned at last to view him closely, noting the trickle of blood on his cheek that had been inflicted when the shattering of his own blade occurred. The man looked a mess, but he couldn’t expect anything else after a battle like that in the confined space of a tavern.

 

“You saved my life.”

 

Hearing his voice for the first time made a heat gather along the Prince’s spine, and he couldn’t decide whether it was uncomfortable or the opposite. “And you saved mine.” His dark brows furrowed, glancing down to his sword and feeling the loss like it was his own. A fighter’s weapon was their pride and safety. “I’m sorry.”

 

With lips pursed, the stranger sighed and resigned to the fact that at least he still had his life. He answered not the Dramyrian’s word of empathy, deciding instead to change the subject as his deep cobalt hues flickered up to meet awaiting violet. 

 

The knocking ceased completely.

 

“What’s your name?”

 

“Atem. And yours?”

 

“Yusei.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always thank you for reading!
> 
> Also I do ask that if you notice any foreshadowing, please do keep the comments free of them so everyone can experience this at their own speed!


	3. Teeth

The commotion was over, but the occasional glances shot from numerous directions in the room continued even after the danger had long since gone. In the fray, a total of four tables and seven chairs had been destroyed or rendered unusable, and when the lofty owner returned, Atem had apologized sincerely for the trouble caused by his presence and offered another two golden claw, enough to pay for the damage sevenfold. His father had taught him from a young age that his company should have been a gift in itself, and were any mayhem to be caused by it, he had a duty to make up for the inconvenience. Perhaps it was not enough to make the man forget about all that had happened tonight, but more than sufficient to act as a poultice to the ill feelings that arose as a result of it.

 

The giant had stared at the coin like a starving dog stunned by a thick steak bleeding savory juice; in reality the value of even one of them was often one month of self-given salary. A hundred silver was worth a single gold, and three silver was enough to buy a loaf of bread from a baker for a meal. Another ten and one could buy a generous three-link of sausage, prepared and cooked. The raw materials for making them all in house as he did were much less. The two claw before him translated into a whole pile of silver that the honest man had only ever once seen all in one place at the same time.

 

He had, like any wise man, accepted Atem’s humble offering, making no fuss as he quickly pocketed the gold away from any greedy eyes that may have leered their way. Within the week, the damaged chairs, tables, and floorboards would be replaced by new wood, freshly cut, lacquered, and hammered together.

 

The damaged ones were dragged off into a storage room in the back, never to be seen again by the public eye until they were to be used as firewood and thrown into the pit that served the man’s patrons like a faithful lover, swaddling them in warmth and providing them with comfort for the limited hours until they had to venture back outside.

 

Yusei’s eyes wandered over the crowd even as he sat opposite of Atem, the Prince’s relaxed posture doing little to soothe his nerves as several pairs of eyes glanced over at them occasionally, as if wondering what they had done to incur the wrath of such a normal-seeming axe-warrior. A few of them whispered that he must have been hexed. More still wrote it off as too much alcohol and troubled married life. Either way, indigo hues could find no trace of the man that had been sitting in the room earlier, with eyes and hollows of cheeks sunken in like he was diseased and should have been in the care of a druid-healer.

 

Atem looked over the broken pieces of sword before him on the table, bare hands careful with the edges as he turned over the shard in his grasp and tried to line it up with one of the others. He ignored all but Yusei’s gaze that shifted back onto him as he let out a regretful sigh.

 

“So there’s nothing you can do?”

 

“Not with this sword. It was enchanted with basic spells when it was made, but enchanted swords are that much harder to put back together when they are broken, and they won’t be half as strong in either regard. You’re better off getting another.”

 

Yusei’s lips twisted into a sour grimace, causing the Prince’s brows to furrow in empathy. The man was a hard one to read, but off the top of his head he could think of a dozen reasons that would make the raven-haired individual across from him scowl like that. The main few were inconvenience, the sentimental value of his blade, a setback in schedule, and perhaps most importantly, the issue of cost. Nowhere in the known world could a person buy a well-made sword for cheap, especially not one that required as much material as this. But he would be crippled from going anywhere safely without one. The knowledge that he hadn’t even been here two moons and he had caused so much trouble for another person was one that perched itself on his shoulders like a vengeful gargoyle and gnawed at the edge of his consciousness where his guilt lay.

 

_A King should not be a burden._

 

With resigned motion the swordsman sans a sword began putting the object of his woes away, wrapping the pieces in cloth and stowing them away in his bag that clinked with the sound of metal already within when he moved it. He had been tinkering, Atem remembered.

 

“I suppose there’s nothing to be done. Thank you, regardless. I wouldn’t have a head by now if you hadn’t stopped him.” His gloved fingers drew a drawstring and closed the leather flap over the front of the bag, hands settling at last in a fold atop the table.

 

A sarcastic chuckle met Yusei’s ears, one that was light and airy, like the tinkling of chimes all too familiar. Displaced, considering their circumstances tonight, but he couldn’t help but be reminded of a fond place he dared not return to, a place whose people he was sure still yearned for his presence. It was for the best if he stayed away, and he shied from the memories like a bad dream after waking.

 

A second thought replaced it: it was hard to believe this man with his laid back disposition had been the same that had been so consumed by anger just moments ago, but he would rather count his lucky stars than to question something as trivial as that. The heat of battle changed a person like nothing else, and even Yusei was not immune to that truth.

 

“You could say no less of me, but I was fortunate enough to walk away from this without losing something dear to me.” The Prince eyed one of the two half-tankards of ale before them but could fathom drinking no more of his tonight—the alcohol had already muted the most bitter edges of his distress; drinking any more would dampen his coordination—as a hot gaze burned into the side of his neck. Probably one of the customers, he decided, and ignored it. “If I recall, there’s a blacksmith just on the other side of the village. We can have a new one forged; I’ll enchant it myself as repayment, and you can be about your way.”

 

The offer was met with a cocked brow, one not out of hostility, but confusion. Yusei had noticed the amount of generosity displayed with the owner of the tavern, and now to offer a sword seemed far out of the budget of any normal man. He had to wonder now, from where was this elf was pulling all of this coin— _his ass?_ That, or he was involved in some unsavory arrangements.

 

“You’re not some witch trying to trick me into trading my soul for a sword, are you?” Yusei had heard the stories from the time he was a young boy to manhood, the tales of necromancers and no-do-gooders out for their own gain, sacrificing anything to the powers of the Mire for untold power or riches, sometimes both. In his youth he had been convinced by various adults that those were all just tall-tales meant to scare children like him into behaving, but as he would soon figure out, the world was a much more dangerous place than he had ever anticipated. Nothing would surprise him at this point; he had run into magick nastier than he had ever imagined.

 

Atem’s eyes were wide, caught off guard by the inquiry before he burst into a small fit of laughter at the notion. _He, a wicked witch?_ The tension in Yusei’s shoulder blades lessened subconsciously, and he found himself at a loss for words. Even in the face of ill memories, the tolling bell was quiet.

 

“So the stories are true. Klengardians really do make elven magick a mountain out of an anthill,” Atem noted, humor still pulling at the corners of his voice. It had been a long time since someone had laughed due to something Yusei had said, in such a way that wasn’t mocking otherwise condescending. He had forgotten what that felt like.

 

“I take it you’re not from around here.” That much was obvious, with the clear accent in the man’s voice and the deep tint of his skin that glowed with warmth in the light of the fire.

 

Seto and Mahad had both warned Atem of this, prohibiting the answers of anything that would give away his identity as a prince. If he were to go alone, they had said, he could tell no one. It was just far too dangerous.

 

But Atem saw no fault in giving his mere country of origin, one that he doubted Yusei had ever even known existed with how forgotten it was to everyone north of it, save the Athuesilian Elves and the most ancient of Wildekin tribes. However that was a blessing in disguise; no armies had disturbed them for many millennia, and under that peace they had kept to themselves and thrived.

 

Atem sought to do nothing that would disturb that peace in his time here, before he had seen enough of the world and walked with its people for long enough that he could truly make rational decisions for his own.

 

“I was born in Dramyria, in the lands southwest of here. Though I believe humans are much more familiar with our distant cousins in Athuesil.”

 

Yusei’s dark brows raised a fraction. “I wasn’t aware there were two different races of elves.”

 

“Most aren’t,” the Prince reassured, something akin to a faint chuckle hanging in the lilt of his voice.

 

A small group of mercenaries rose from their seats around the fire and drew the attention of the both of them, and Yusei’s eyes followed them as they exited. A pair glanced over, as if watching their back as they left, and Atem noticed how the room had thinned out to a dozen and a half people, the noise level less than proportionate to how many remained. It was late now, he knew, and all still in the tavern were heavily intoxicated or otherwise very tired, some a mixture. None had the energy left to holler and hoot and sing songs around the pit. Even the Wildekin and her harp had gone, leaving the space flat without music. It reminded the elf that it would be rude to keep the man any longer.

 

“Shall we meet back here in the morning?” Atem reached for the lantern at his feet finally, reminded of a horrid, seething vision crawling like a centipede on the edge of his consciousness until he shook it off like one.

 

“Ah—” Yusei’s scarred countenance looked like his memory had been jogged of something forgotten, and he rose from his seat and reached for his sword out of habit, only to remember it was no longer there for him to retrieve. His scowl deepened, and as the owner came around to collect emptied flagons his guests had left behind, he dug into his scarcely-filled coin purse, and with anticipation grasped enough claw to pay the man. “Do you have any rooms left for the night?”

 

“‘Fraid not. The last double-bed was taken by your friend here.”

 

The two men exchanged glances.

 

The guilt that followed stung the Dramyrian elf so severely that it would not be soothed until Atem lay with his back to the room in his own cot, his form draped with the warm furs of his cloak as he listened to the soft clink of armor behind him as it was removed. Soon, a pair of eyes felt hot on his neck, before the sound of a breath extinguished the candle in the room. The other lay with a quiet sigh in his own bed, turned as well with his back facing the Prince. The shadows consumed them both and all the space between, leaving only the sound of fresh rain drumming softly outside.

 

Neither of them would speak until morning.

  


* * *

 

 

When Atem woke, he did so from a nightmare, his body jolting as if he had snapped awake right before his form shattered from a treacherous fall. His breath came quick, and he was left disoriented and questioning exactly where he was, what he had been doing just moments ago in his dream, and what perilous thing had chased him from his slumber, leaving his hands a trembling, writhing mess. Tiny beads of sweat clung to his skin uncomfortably and made the furs hugging his body feel too hot even in the midst of the cool air, and when his subconsciousness reminded him that another presence had to be in the room his eyes snapped to the other cot a handful of feet away as if expecting to find a rotting corpse in it, with its mouth hanging open and yellowing teeth bared against strained, withering lips.

 

He found nothing in it at all, and it took a moment to remember that it _should have_ contained a person, one with ebony hair and a marred complexion, but instead the furs had been smoothed flat like no one had slept there the prior night.

 

The Prince sat up in his bed now, sucking in an unsteady breath as a means to quell the tension and clear his mind of its macabre thoughts. He distracted himself then with more realistic worries like the question of where his taller companion had gone, his feet taking to the floorboards and tucking into his boots with a sharp pull on their backings. His glistening armor remained at the bedside, untouched atop the provided shelving along with his belt and swords. It had been the first time he slept with another in the same room as he since arriving here, and he thanked the gods the man was one of integrity. He had heard many a story of people in this land stealing off in the night with belongings that weren’t theirs.

 

With a relaxed pace he donned his armor, just as he had every morning since he stepped foot outside his palace, adjusting his swords’ hang at his sides and latching his lantern onto the belt hook made specifically for it at his hip.

 

A glance over the room for anything that may have been forgotten and he was off, down the hall and past a woman that swept the floor idly as sleep hung about her eyes. Morning light filtered into the main room of the tavern through high windows pushed open to vent the smoke of morning cooking, and the sight of the giant padding in the kitchen half out of view was a welcome one as the smell of fresh breads and searing pork guided him closer to the bar like a siren’s beautiful song.

 

A man and a woman sat there already, travelers like he, getting in their morning fill before a long day of travel ahead. A passing thought drifted through his mind like a boat along the steady waters of a lake—that under normal circumstances, he would have been right there with them at earlier hours, getting ready to leave and perhaps purchase a horse from the local stable—before it faded and sunk into the waters of his consciousness. There was no sense in troubling himself over that now, especially if the additional time here would give him more of an opportunity to plan his movements to the next city. Kincardine would still be there after this.

 

Breakfast consisted of a generous helping of still-hot lingonberry jam, a link of pork sausage, and a thick cut of bread, which was traded for several silver on the bar surface. As he ate, he had noticed the hole in the flooring across the room was covered up haphazardly with several more planks, a temporary solution to prevent anyone paying so little attention to where they were going that they would sink a leg into it and scrape the limb to high heavens on the jagged edges. Atem licked his lips of tart jam and would have groaned at the thought had he not been reminded that he was the cause of the damage, which shut him up quicker than anything else.

 

Yusei came through the back door of the inn just as the Prince finished his meal while absently listening to the conversation of the people beside him, the man hefting a whole armful of freshly cut wood and setting it down where one of the girls employed by the giant gestured, to a space adjacent to the kitchen entrance. His cheeks were flushed as if he had been exerting himself, and by Atem’s best guess, by chopping wood. With him, the Dramyrian caught the scent of morning dew and pine, a welcome smell in contrast to the reek of alcohol that hung so heavily here. A handful of claw was dropped into the man’s gloved hand, and the owner of the lingering pair of wine eyes found his intrigue tickled. So this was how he managed to get by.

 

The two shared another exchanged glance, acknowledging each other’s presence, and the pair were well on their way out into the cool air of the late autumn breeze. Endless mist and clouds hung above them, shrouding the sun and dispersing the white light as an even blanket overhead, muting all of the shadows below them to blurred silhouettes.

 

“You were up early.”

 

“You slept in. It won’t be long before noon.”

 

“It would be a first.” Atem was a consistent early riser; oftentimes with a restless mind he would be up to see the morning stars amid a midnight blue washed sky and the rise of an orange sun over the dunes on the horizon, all from the comfort of his own balcony in the palace. It was so much different than the scene before him now, of humans and Wildekin going about their day clad in heavy cloaks, overcast heavens painting a dreary film of grey over everyone and everything. The pang of homesickness ran him through like an arrow, causing a falter in his faint grin that went unmissed by a pair of deep sea eyes. The Prince went on like it was nothing. “Yesterday was a bit chaotic.”

 

Yusei snorted, and it was the first time Atem had heard anything like a laugh from the man; his serious appearance could have fooled the elf to believe he wasn’t capable of humor. Tension in his shoulders he hadn’t realized he had been holding eased a touch at the sound.

 

“That’s nothing short of an understatement, if you ask me.”

 

Atem’s lips froze in what may have looked like a half-assed smile, but it was really just a grimace. _You don’t know the half of it,_ he thought to himself, but decided on best judgement not overshare. He didn’t need this man thinking he was crazy, not when the stigma against him had already been noted a couple times the night before. That, and speaking any more of the nightmare of an omen he had been ensnared within for what felt like an eternity was sure to bring even more misfortune.

 

Wine orbs caught sight of the blacksmithing forge just around the corner, and it brought his thoughts back to the present, to the smell of hot steel and the violent hiss and boiling of water as red-hot metal was thrust beneath its surface. It was a familiar sound to them, both of whom had been raised, or otherwise grown, in a culture of respecting the sanctity of battle. It was language that joined everyone in these times, regardless of race or status. Everyone had something they wanted to protect with that weapon forged by hot coals and fire, whether it be their family, property, or reputation.

 

“There it is—”

 

The Prince gestured with his head, his body starting when a small, decrepit man that hadn’t been there just moments before appeared right beside him, just barely grazing the furs of Atem’s cloak as he passed, but knocked fully into the tallest of the three. The beggar stumbled, mumbling something indiscernible to Atem’s pointed ears several paces ahead, but loud enough that the one he had collided with could not miss it.

 

“— _teeth, teeth_ —”

 

The hunched imp ambled away nonchalantly, inconsequentially, leaving a staggered Yusei to stare after him full of apprehension. A long pause filled the space between the two men, one beginning to feel too eerie for Atem’s comfort.

 

“Did something happen?”

 

Out of habit, Yusei patted his bag and heard the clink of coin within it, and with some measure of relief glanced back to where the mendicant had been. He was gone. The furrow in Yusei’s dark brows only deepened.

 

“No, it’s nothing.”

 

The duo continued forward to the forge as planned, but with an air of returned trepidation that they thought they had escaped the night before. Yusei found himself glancing back to the town around him that moved so casually, watching for something, _anything_ that might trip his sense of danger. The bell did not toll, but its clapper itched along the metaphorical iron surface, filling his mind with a faint scrape-ringing that irritated his eardrums like he had water trapped in his ear canal after a lengthy swim. The hair on his nape stood on end, and the Prince beside him was quick to notice his change in demeanor, in the way his shoulders looked too broad and his back too straight, but commented on it none as they both stood before the blacksmith to work out the finer details of the sword to be made.

 

Nine days, she told them, after she had looked over the pieces of broken sword in Yusei’s possession and took a brief measurement of his height. His new one would be lighter, made of Xadraran steel and much sharper, and after Atem shared his plans to enchant it himself, she commented she expected it to be far stronger and serve him manyfold longer than his last.

 

The taller male had done his best to pay attention, but he found it divided for the rest of that conversation, distracted by every shadow and back alley in the streets around them. The darkness writhed like a living snake from afar in all nooks and crannies, that one indelible word replaying back over in his mind again and again like an echo in an endless chasm, shouted too loud and left to repeat forever, forever, forevermore to torment him.

 

The clink of exchanged claw and the loud hammering of new steel being shaped did not reach him, for all he could hear was that passing utterance ringing in his ears now, like sprites were standing on his shoulders and chanting it with their small hands dug into his neck like little pinpricks and lips grazing his skin, something too intimate and overwhelmingly unwelcome.

 

_—teeth, teeth—_

 

— _teeth,_ **_teeth!_ ** —

 

**_—teeth! TEETH!!_ **

 

“Yusei—”

 

The man started, his distant expression snapping back to the present to concerned pools of amethyst sitting adjacent to him. The fire popped, crackling furiously as the flames licked into damp fibers of wood. The shadows in the tavern corners and the darkness in the windows calmed, losing their agitated rage.

 

The voices in his head quieted.

 

“Are you feeling alright? You’ve looked awfully pale all day.”

 

Atem shifted in his seat, a mug stopping absentmindedly at pursed lips. He gave the man a questioning once-over to note the way his shoulders were too perpendicular to his body, like he had been holding the same breath since they arrived at the blacksmith’s. He silently hoped the guy wasn’t like this all the time; with what he had seen, the traveler showed little other expression than fierceness during battle, neutral silence, and whatever tense perturbedness this was. The elf had to wonder—was that what he had looked like when he entered the tavern last night?

 

The human sucked in a silent breath, marked by the way his chest expanded against his armor. “I’m fine; don’t worry about me.”

 

His eyes shifted down to the piece of partially-eaten bread in his clothed hands, realizing he had ripped it apart upon flinching. Something yellow caught his eye from within its grainy fibers, appearing first like a kernel of corn, but upon further tearing it dropped into his wooden plate with a nauseating _clack!_

 

Both pairs of eyes were now drawn to this small, dingy thing, until the shift of Yusei’s hand felled a second one into a clattering rest upon his plate. There were four jagged cusps on each, and a vague tint of sanguine in the small amount of tissue that still clung to the roots.

 

Saliva filled his mouth, and Yusei had to scramble out the back of the tavern where chickens squawked and fluttered their wings when he threw the door open, bile stinging his mouth as he bent to expunge it from his throat and onto the half-dried mud. Tears gathered at his eyes, blurring his vision of the night as it came in a second wave, and another.

 

Even as he wrestled back the vomit with a gloved fist against his lips, Yusei’s stomach churned, as if sentiently wanting to rid itself of any and all contents that had come in contact with the object of his sudden and vehement sickness. From behind him, a figure scrupled. A hand hesitated, drawing back with uncertainty before laying gently against the bare armor of the man’s back to offer even the slightest of comfort.

 

Inside the tavern, the two molars lay next to the chucked bread and nearly uneaten meal, not to be touched again by either of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so fucked up. Yusei, I'm so sorry—
> 
> Also did anyone spot the Witcher reference? S/o to tunafax for making one of the most disturbing and well-written fics I've read! It was honestly my inspiration to delve into writing psychological horror.


	4. The Prey

That night, sleep was difficult. Neither rose from their cots after lying down in them to blow out the candles on the table between them, so they remained lit for the duration of the night, burning steadily, slowly, ever still. Yusei lay again with his back facing Atem, unmoving as if he were asleep, but his eyes did not close with the intention to do so even once. His gaze wandered along the wall, along the patterns of grain in the wood, tracing them inattentively as he was lost in his own world of thoughts and worries.

 

Hours ago, Atem helped calm his fervent nausea after he had emptied his stomach completely, providing him with a brew of leaves that had been tucked away in one of the many pouches of his bag. It smelled of peppermint and something akin to ginger, and Yusei’s learned caution made him wonder for a moment if perhaps it were poison, but he realized that if Atem were truly trying to hurt him, he would have done it already—he sure had his fair share of chances by now—if not just idly sat by and watched as he was split in two in the elf’s place the previous night.

 

The tea had gone down rather easily, soothing a throat irritated by acid and helping to settle the feeling of needing to retch, and for the life of him, the vagabond could not understand what Atem had to gain by taking care of him as he did. He was a stranger, someone Yusei hadn’t fathomed existed before just a day ago, but in that time he had already offered more help than many people did in a year or a lifetime. These days everything had a price, and generosity of such nature never came without strings. The thought that perhaps things were just different where the elf came from was one that he dispelled quickly; it was dangerous to believe in notions like that without a shred of proof to support them, but it took root in his heart, seeding in what humanity he still desperately clung onto, no matter how much he would be loath to admit it.

 

His mind drifted back to the beggar in the streets, the one whose face he hadn’t seen, but whose frail body had knocked into his with a strength he wouldn’t have expected a sickly form like that to possess. His stomach began to churn again when those words tapped at his consciousness, like a lion’s gentle, pleading scratch against a door that it would storm and lay waste to all occupants within if allowed entry. Thoughts of the teeth in his bread forced their way into his mind, and he could feel that disgusting sensation of his mouth salivating in preparation for vomit and he cast the memory sharply away with a clench of teeth and eyes squeezed tightly shut. He gripped the furs lain over him, his gloves kept ever on, and the shift of his body in his cot drew the attention of the other male in the room, his tired gaze falling on a head of dark hair that stilled as if he had fallen back to sleep.

 

The night wore on, the candles shrinking slowly down to their holders as their little flames burned smoothly through their fuel, flickering only sometimes when a draft pulled them to a dance. Eventually the Prince’s eyes closed in exhaustion, not to open again until the morning, but Yusei remained awake for hours more, too unhinged for Sleep’s gentle hands to guide him into her embrace. Rest eluded him until nearly morning.

 

When the sun’s muted rays touched the inn and they both woke, exhaustion hung about Yusei’s eyes. Neither of them spoke of the previous night, nor did they bring up the vagabond’s fit of sickness. There was no reason for them to revisit a topic so embarrassing. The taller of the two gave a short word that he had things to attend to in the village, and he left the Prince to his lonesome, giving them both space they needed after a day of having to interact.

 

After breakfast, Atem took a much needed trip to the druid’s shop, thankful that in a town so filled with humans there was still enough of a tolerance, even demand, for alchemical ingredients and magickal items that the shop was filled with a great many materials he found useful. Salts were in abundance, to which he bought enough to enchant his swords, along with hazel flowers and dried bloodroot. He had half a mind to purchase more gingermint leaves, but found that he still possessed enough of the plant to make another two servings of tea for his newly-found acquaintance if he so happened to need it. The Prince hoped he wouldn't.

 

He left the humble building with several pouches more of ingredients and a coin purse lighter still, after having paid for ten nights at the tavern the previous evening, and made his way to the edges of the village to the sound of running water, to a small river winding its way through the thick of trees. Sitting along the banks he laid out his ingredients on the soft moss and grass around him, perching himself on a felled tree next to a suitable patch of dry ground. He drew a pattern in the dirt with a flaming finger and scattered salt along the boundaries, laying his drawn swords within the lines. It had been some time since he had done it last, but the muscle memory was ingrained in him just as deeply as the act of wielding a sword or conjuring a spell.

 

Although the vision of that beast two nights ago felt so far away now in the light of day, in the safety of his proximity to the town behind him, it was nonetheless haunting, nor had he forgotten the premonition of death that had been exhaled onto his nape. In his bones, he felt that it had been an admonition, despite never having experienced one before. Back home, the seer Isis in his court of mages not once had her divinations without reason, and she had always been a strong believer that the Fates could reach their willful hands into the lives of anyone regardless of experience and change their paths in ways unexpected. The Prince would be a fool to be caught defenseless in the presence of the seething daemon in reality after seeing what he had, and he would sooner forfeit his entire journey than to allow that to happen. The ritual before him would ensure his safety, using ingredients and elements antipodal to the powers of the Mire.

 

If he were to face that monstrosity again, he would feel not a sliver of regret in slaying it. The fiend would experience the wrath of a blossoming King and breathe its last ragged breath, slumped to bleed out at his feet.

 

When Atem returned to the village in the afternoon, he crossed paths again with Yusei, who was busy trading a whole deer for coin, which was already being bled and skinned in the back of the shop, just within view. Their gazes caught, and the Prince had wandered closer to his companion with a curious interest as to how he had managed to fell the animal with no sword and no bow, but the swordsman remarked casually that he had been lucky enough to find it already injured by predators, and all it had needed was a merciful slit of throat to coax it into passing. Atem thought to himself that he hadn’t realized Yusei owned a knife after not seeing it on his person even once within the last two days, but the notion that the man _didn’t_ was a silly one—most every woman, man, and androgyne carried one, including many children. He asked not where he kept it, perhaps entertaining himself with guessing.

 

As partial payment, the two left with a generous cut of loin, and the future sovereign inquired just what he would do with it, for it was still too temperate to keep the meat without ice or otherwise abundant amounts of snow. Neither of those things were readily available just yet, but there would be no need for it, for he replied that the venison would be their dinner, but they would have to cook it themselves.

 

Atem couldn’t hide the faint smile of gratitude that pulled at his lips. It had been a while since he had had a cut of meat as tender as this.

 

The duo found their way to a small pit nestled against the side of a small slope in town, one surrounded by chopped trunks to sit upon and a few empty barrels to use as surfaces, where the Prince had noted on his way in days prior that people were cooking over piles of tinder and branches used as firewood. The ashes remained, and after setting down the cut of meat on top of one of the barrels Yusei nudged a few charcoals with his boot to note how the moisture clung to them.

 

“It’ll be hard getting a fire to start now.”

 

Atem had wore a faint, knowing grin as he dropped a pile of damp twigs and branches into the pit, and at some point during the time that he had had his back turned, Yusei had drawn his knife from godsknewwhere, digging into his bag to retrieve a stone of obsidian which he struck with the blunt edge of his blade after he crumbled and cradled in his hands the driest-looking leaf he could find. He didn’t notice at first how Atem knelt before the pit, taking off one of his own gloves and picking up a patch of moss, nor how he held it between his thumb and middle finger. His tanzanite eyes, however, did flicker up when the elf snapped, flame coming to life in the wet lichen and smoking as it burned off its dew.

 

Yusei’s body remained deathly still in deadpan even as Atem tucked the burning sphere within a small nest of twigs, which also caught fire as they were touched, with a couple loud cracks and more mild sizzling. As if with inhibited dissatisfaction for what hadn’t even been a wholehearted attempt, Yusei brushed the leaves from his clothed palms and dropped the flint back into his bag, sitting himself on a log to carve their dinner into thinner strips for skewering. The elf stifled his urge to chuckle at the mild passive aggression, seeming rather pleased with himself as he too took a seat a few feet adjacent.

 

A few birds twittered in the trees, swooping down to peck at the grass next to them before fluttering about their way, and the two men relaxed in the growing warmth of the fire that chased away the chill better than any blanket could. They chatted leisurely as Atem’s eyes wandered over the scenery, following people and animals alike as they all went about their afternoon, before returning to the form clad in armor and dark furs before him, busy cutting into fresh meat with the knife whose origin remained ever a mystery.

 

Before long, the venison was roasting, and the Prince couldn’t help but muse that they were dining there tonight because Yusei was avoiding the tavern food. The man hadn’t eaten anything for breakfast either—at least, not that he had seen—but Atem couldn’t fault him. Watching two teeth drop out of food that person planned to eat was disturbing enough in itself, never mind adding that to the stress of whatever had been bothering him for hours since their visit to the blacksmith’s. The swordsman hadn’t talked about that either, but he thought it better not to ask.

 

The pair of pomegranate hues took to reading when their conversation had faded to something of a comfortable silence, scanning over lines of text about countless potions and remedies Atem still had yet to learn. The clip-clop of hooves upon occasional stone and dirt pathways colored the quietness, followed by a few voices as greetings were exchanged nearby, and the fire crackled pleasantly by their feet while the fragrance of cooking venison perfumed the air. Yusei polished his knife, occasionally studying his reflection upon its surface whilst lost in thought.

 

The Prince had gotten through perhaps another ten pages of tiny text, completely absorbed in memorizing their content before he felt a gaze on him. Yusei nodded to the meat in front of him, picking at the skewer in his own hands before peeling a steaming strip with the grain. Atem had been so lost in his book that he didn’t realize the man had already helped himself to a serving before this.

 

“Wouldn’t want a cut like that to burn.”

 

The elf gave a word of thanks for the meal, partially to his gods but moreso to the individual sitting before him, who was gazing into the sky, which had darkened considerably since they arrived there, as he chewed. His eyes seemed to linger on the moons, flickering between them as if noting the celestial date. The cycle was closing, Atem knew, for one of the only familiar things about this land was paradoxically the skies above them. The time of the full moons was only about a week away now, give or take a day or two.

 

The stars began to shine, and the companions spoke lightly of the constellations and the parables associated with them in their respective homelands. Fireflies, as if conjured by the embers of their firepit, lit the trees and darkness, twinkling with their pale green, blue, and purple tints. Amid their conversation, one landed directly on the tip of Atem’s nose, and Yusei had tried to restrain a sudden snort to no avail, a gloved hand quickly covering his mouth as wrestled back a series of chuckles. It resulted in the Prince’s own laughter, one that filled the air with a genuine and jovial sound. Somewhere in the distance, a group of people sang around a similar fire.

 

When the meal was finished, they ventured back to the tavern, and into their own cots. The space of the room suddenly felt as it hadn’t before, and the strange sense of foreign foreboding that resulted in having to sleep within sight of a stranger had dispersed. Atem read some more, and Yusei tinkered.

 

Once it was time to rest, neither of them did so with their backs to another.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The following days passed by much the same—Yusei avoided food at the inn, they went about their separate ways for a handful of hours until they converged again in the afternoon, and they ate dinner together before falling back asleep in preparation to face yet another morning. One day when Yusei returned to find the mage on the floors of their rented room with salts and ingredients laid out as he enchanted his sword, the man had nearly whirled in the opposite direction to leave, feeling like he was intruding on something he shouldn’t have been seeing. However, Atem called him in before he had the chance, reassuring him that no magick he was performing would be of any harm to either of them, and even invited him to watch and learn if he so pleased.

 

As the Dramyr would soon find out, Yusei wasn’t keen on seeing magick, nor the idea of it. He seemed to have an aversion to the way the ground powders and crushed flowers smoldered at each of the points within his circle, the furrow in his brow giving away his doubtfulness of its pure intent. Atem pushed him none to accept it, simply giving him the facts, and the man sat upon his cot, watching as the swords were enveloped in a soft glow of gold like the one that had saved him from death by an axe and its infuriated wielder, whom neither of them had heard from or seen again.

 

“So this is what you’ll be doing once the sword is made?” The question sounded more like a statement than anything, as if he had expected Atem to simply nod and hum in agreement. The elf did more than that however, pushing a lock of blonde hair from his eyes as he sat back more comfortably on the flooring, rather satisfied with the work he had done tonight. His blades kept their residual sheen, as if sparkling of their own accord.

 

“Much like it. Did you have any particular enchantments that you wanted performed?”

 

Yusei paused for only a beat before answering.

 

“Do you have anything that’ll slay an evil magickal on site?”

 

Atem had chuckled, thinking at first that it was Yusei’s special brand of humor speaking again. He quickly quieted when he saw the dark gleam of seriousness in the man’s eyes, shifting slightly forward when he felt the tug of curiosity in his chest, and perhaps even the desire to affirm that it wasn’t _he_ to which the Klengardian was referring. He tried to pretend the notion didn’t make his skin prickle with fear.

 

“Are you hunting someone?” His voice was hushed now, providing some level of confidentiality under the off chance someone was sober enough to _want_ to eavesdrop. The scarred mien he studied shifted towards the closed door as if momentarily wondering the same thing, and the pair of sapphire eyes flickered back to Atem’s face to contemplate, seeming to mull over whether he deemed the elf trustworthy enough to disclose that kind of information. Within the five days that they had been together, they hadn’t spoken much about themselves, nor any personal details and motives. For all the man knew, Atem could have been a heartless murderer, just a snake with a lot of charisma, but even if that were the case it wasn’t like he was much better.

 

Yusei’s lips parted, and he hesitated before managing a grave, “More like a _something_.”

 

The elf felt a small rush of relief as it swept through his body; the context of that certainly didn’t sound like he himself were in any sort of danger, so his straightened spine eased back into a soft slouch before he reached for his swords to sheathe them.

 

“Dark magick?”

 

“The kind that curses people for life.”

 

Atem wished it hadn’t, but the brief thought combed through his mind like an arctic breeze, freezing everything in its path to the absolute core—perhaps the vision he had seen was not regarding himself, but the man before him sat on his homely little rented cot. Curses had only one purpose: to torment the one they were cast upon until the time of their miserable death. The elf had never experienced anything like what he had seen that first day until just moments before he laid eyes on Yusei, and since then the swordsman had befallen the loss of his weapon and nearly his life to a crazed mercenary, as well as whatever horrible happenstance a person could call finding human teeth in their food and the ardent sickness that resulted.

 

All of the arrows pointed straight to this man.

 

“I’ll find the ingredients you need tomorrow.”

 

As Yusei looked back at Atem now, he couldn’t help but wonder yet again what the elf had to gain from all of this, from expending his own resources and his time helping someone he fundamentally did _not_ know. It was a ridiculous idea, one that he had lost faith in years ago—the concept that complete strangers would help each other for no reason at all other than out of the kindness of their own hearts.

 

A small voice within him bit back, questioning if that had not been what he had done, by raising his sword in defense of the foreign magickal nights ago or again today, in sharing the best cut of meat a deer had to offer. Sure, the elf could probably afford to buy twenty whole deer on the spot if he wanted to, but it hadn’t changed his intentions.

 

It was just different, he shoved back. That was just how he was, how he had always been.

 

The voice gnawed that perhaps this man was the same, and Yusei felt himself again teetering on the edge of dangerous hope, something in which he didn’t want to so much as touch lest he be burned once more.

 

The tension within him faded into a sea of calm when his eyes caught on a pair of lavender, every last voice and worry fading into the black waters and sinking so far into their depths that he wasn’t sure if they had ever existed in the first place. He found himself completely ensnared, and while he knew he should have fought it and looked away, he could do nothing to resist. Something warm bloomed within his chest, seeping into his ribs and stomach. He could barely breathe.

 

There was no way this elf meant him any harm.

 

“Let’s get some rest. We can worry about it in the morning.”

 

Atem’s eyes shifted away from his, and the man stood, patting the ingredients’ powders from his knees. Yusei was glad he turned away, finally sucking in a quiet breath he could not take just a moment prior as he distracted himself with undoing the armor from his body.

 

When he finally lay in his cot with his furs pulled over him, Atem padded with bare feet to the candles upon the table, sending his roommate a quick glance before blowing them softly out. The darkness washed over them, just as it did every night, and Yusei heard the rustle of the cot and furs across the room as the elf settled into them with a comfortable exhale.

 

As if it had been the easiest thing in the world, Yusei heard the pleasant sound of a, “Goodnight.”

 

It was the first time in dozens of moons that anyone had said that to him. It had been just as many since he said it back, as he did now, as nothing more than a muted mumble.

 

That night in his dreams, he would hear a wolf’s splitting howl. The sight of blood littered the ground, in thin trails like whatever he was trying to find, to help, had been running desperately away. The thundering of tremendous paws against the earth filled his ears with a rattling so loud that he wanted to fall to his knees under its pressure and scream for it to stop. His nape lit with the lick of scorching fire as the trail of blood grew thicker, thicker, thicker still, until he was standing over a pool of it, sunken into burning mosses and giving off a stench of blood so vile that he gagged, tears filling his eyes with the sting.

 

At his feet, teeth, gods, _so many_ **_fucking_ ** _teeth_ that they rolled and clattered under his boots like pebbles, and a body lay, blonde locks marred by the deep crimson of sanguine. A pair of beautiful amethyst eyes, trapped forever open in an abyss of a gaze that saw everything and nothing at once.

 

The elf’s throat had been torn open, a gaping hole so black that Yusei could not look at it. A sob ripped from his lips as he shut out all things from sight, and the excruciating tear of his own gullet being ripped open was marked by a murderous snarl as he too fell to his death, seeing everything and nothing at once.

 

A howl rose into the sky, to the full moons that witnessed all.

  
_Goodnight_ had been a lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to crunch really hard for this chapter to get it out in time for Halloween, but alas I didn't have enough time to fit everything in here that I wanted before my deadline. But regardless, I hope you enjoyed the spoops (and feels)!


	5. The Predator

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of stuff came up this past month that ate a ton into my time and energy, some of which were serious things that I had to address immediately, so this chapter was super delayed. Rest assured, I haven't forgotten about it! It will continue as planned, even if it takes a little longer than desired to update. Anyway I hope the lengthier chapter makes up for the wait!
> 
> Thanks for your patience!

Yusei was on edge.

 

Atem could see it now as they sat together, roasting freshly caught fish over a fire along the riverside—an early dinner—with the gentle rush of water against the banks as their backdrop. This past day the Klengardian hadn’t tinkered at all, instead sitting with his spine too rigid and his eyes too hard as if he knew _something_ were impending. The man hadn’t been one of many words since the beginning; he was concise, only ever saying what he needed to say and letting the silence fill in the rest. These past few days, Atem had found himself doing most of the talking as Yusei merely listened, involved enough that he would passively nod every so often when prompted, or sometimes give a soft hum to indicate he was still listening. It didn’t bother the elf; he had never been one to fuss over the lack of a proper response, even if the officials and members of his father’s court always had a very sharp word—and even _punishment_ —for those who did not show ample respect by answering their Prince appropriately.

 

However the morning before, Yusei had seemed to wake with a tense apprehension that hadn’t left even now, as they sat in what should have been a relaxed afternoon air that was a touch warmer than it had been the previous several days. The sun shone amiably down on them, shedding its last few hours of light before it sank back into the earth’s horizon like a lover to open arms. The human was unaffected by this, appreciating not how the rays kissed his skin with mild heat and made it radiate with a pleasant glow. Atem contemplated for a moment how serene he would have looked if it were not for the stiffness of his posture, or the deep crease of his brows. Neither of them had said much to each other for some time now, allowing the birds above to sing praises to the sunshine while they could still enjoy it today.

 

At last he slid a leaf he had been pressing to mark his place in his book of spells and closed it, sliding the leather tome into his bag before reaching for the skewered fish in front of him. With a quick test of its temperature using the tips of his fingers, the elf decided it was cool enough to eat and tore into its soft flesh.

 

“I heard it might rain tonight,” Atem remarked, chewing thoughtfully as he noted how the meat flaked apart pleasantly in his mouth. A thin sheen of oil clung to his fingers and glistened in the light of the sun. Fish back home were rarely this firm in texture, and the Prince had to wonder whether Yusei were so used to eating it that he could manage to resist digging in as he did now.

 

The man palmed his knife, seeming somewhere far off as he gazed into his reflection on the blade’s surface. He noted how Yusei’s lips parted as if to speak, but neglected to do so just yet as he ran his gloved thumb perpendicular to the edge, testing for dulling. When he at last seemed satisfied, his tanzanite gaze moved to the fire, looking over the fish and watching with passive interest as their descaled skin bubbled with fat. His stomach called to him, tugging gently towards the meal.

 

“No. It’ll be clear.”

 

Amethyst eyes lit with a flicker of curiosity. He didn’t think Yusei was one for divination—in fact that was the last thing he expected, but Atem couldn’t help but entertain the thought; if the man wasn’t a nonmagickal, perhaps they weren’t so different after all.

 

“You’re a dowser?”

 

“Can’t say I am.”

 

“A clairvoyant?”

 

“If I were, I probably wouldn’t be here right now.”

 

The elf tried to ignore how, to some small degree, the comment stung. He had to backpedal to remember that the man before him was nothing if not blunt, but at least he could rely on him to be truthful. Atem managed a chuckle, finally, taking another bite from his fish and gazing into the festival of dancing flames, the crackles and pops of damp wood like fireworks.

 

“Then how is it that you know that?”

 

The quiet met his question, chirping of the birds above filling the space between them once more. The Prince felt his companion’s eyes on him, but when he returned the gaze it had already gone, and the man was busy stowing away the cloth he had been using to polish his knife.

 

“...sometimes you just know. Though I don’t have to tell you that; I’m sure you’re more familiar with that feeling than I am, as an elf.”

 

The flicker of a maw seething angry steam flashed through the elf’s mind, and it quieted him more quickly than most else.

 

He picked at the flesh around the thin, almost clear bones of his fish. A bird landed by his boot, pecking at the ground before flying off. Atem could barely stand the silence now. He wanted not to think of that wolf, nor having to ever see it again, especially not in reality. The throbbing of a migraine wished to seep into his skull, the uncomfortable pressure seeming so out of place in the presence of an afternoon like this, but he was quick to divert his attention to another topic.

 

“In Dramyria, they say that magickal humans were born because the Sky Mother saw how powerless humans were to change their fate without it. They went about slaughtering each other, her younger sister’s Wildekin children, and even her own elven children, in attempt to mold the world to their liking.” The Prince watched as Yusei’s brows eased a fraction in interest, their gazes catching for just a moment before the elf looked into the skies above them. Something of a smile tugged at his lips; he had the man’s attention. “After hundreds of years of tension, when the first war on magickals began, she looked over Vamora and saw all of the destruction and death, and how much the humans and her children misunderstood each other because of their separation by magick.”

 

“The Great War of Disparity.”

 

“That’s what they called it… The Sky Mother watched as the attempted genocides continued, and at last she wept over the earth, and her tears enchanted the soil, the water. Her own children were unaffected—they were already blessed with magick—but the human children that drank and ate foods ensorcelled by her tears began to show signs of sorcery just as those born with magick did.

 

“Once the humans saw that their own children far from the war’s reach were practicing without realizing, and they saw how innocent it was—becoming friends with animals, making daily tasks easier, and even saving the lives of fellow human beings—they started to realize how much they had misjudged the elves and Wildekin. The war ended shortly thereafter, and many of those children that drank and ate of the Sky Mother’s tears grew to have children of their own, many of which were also handed down the gift of magick.”

 

Yusei’s thoughtful expression lingered as he too glanced up at the sky, which was already beginning to tint with streaks of orange. The stars were very slowly becoming more visible. “Who was her sister—the one who created the Wildekin?”

 

“The Moons. She had the Wildekin after she had been separated from her lover, Vuemra—Vamora, in your tongue—the goddess of earth, in order to bind them together. In the same way, the Sky Mother had us, the elves, with the Goddess Sun. They say humans were born solely from Vamora.”

 

“So you’re saying the Wildekin would be my half-brothers and -sisters.”

 

“So the legends say.”

 

The Klengardian’s sapphire eyes colored with something dark in spite of the incoming rays of sunlight, and Atem found his faint grin of recalling fond legends beginning to disappear.  “And you believe this?”

 

“It’s the religion of my people.”

 

Yet again, Yusei’s lips closed to yield the silence, and last Atem could no longer bear it, especially not when the tale had left the man in an even more sour mood than he had been in to start. He tossed the fish picked to nothing but bone into the fire, sitting forward from his recline against the log Yusei perched upon to grab another, but not for himself.

 

“Anyway, the food’s going to overcook if you don’t eat any. _‘Wouldn’t want a cut like that to burn,’_ right?” A droplet of oil landed on his finger, and he hissed a muted _“ouch”_ when it sizzled upon contact. He began to hand off the skewer, angling it away from the both of them to avoid any more unpleasant burning.

 

Something akin to concern pulled at Yusei’s lips, but before he had a chance to comment his elven companion had already seemed to recover. “ _Oh,_ your gloves. Here, they’ll stain if you keep them on.”

 

Atem’s fingers just barely grazed hide glove, but when they did Yusei found a sudden rush of blood roaring in his ears. His nape prickled painfully with sudden fear, and a pair of wine hues caught the chilling sight of Yusei’s pupils dilating and irises filling with a destructive urgency that had the Prince’s head immediately reeling backwards. Pearly whites flashed in a single snarled word, a quivering lip drawing back over them as Atem’s hand was shoved abruptly back.

 

 **“** **_STOP!_ ** **”**

 

The elf’s mind struggled to keep up, but within only a moment the human that had been only an arm’s breadth away from him had stood and gone, disappearing back into the thick of trees between the river and the town in a flurry of movement.

 

The skewer of fish remained still in his hand, he realized, as the hammering of his heart against his ribs continued. With difficulty he struggled to understand what exactly he had done to earn such a vehement response, however he found himself at a loss ever still. Another sizzling drop of oil landed on his wrist, but the tonic of adrenaline numbed the pain.

 

Atem sat leaned against the log, the fire crackling at his feet, the river trickling just farther, the warm rays of sun caressing his russet-brown skin. It was quiet, and he hated it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When at last he returned to the village, the bustle of the locals and travelers had come to a slow. People were leaving the main square, taking their wares and newly purchased items with them. A couple horses clopped by, following their riders by the reins. He passed a housing of chickens that pecked lazily at the ground for seeds and bugs, a couple of fulshon[1] staring with their horizontal, rectangular pupils as he ambled by them.

 

His stomach was filled; he hadn’t wanted to waste the fish they had caught, but he had found after Yusei’s sudden outburst that he hadn’t any appetite. The meal wasn’t enjoyable anymore, and it all tasted like nothing. After the bones had been thrown into the fire and the fire itself extinguished with a single wave of hand, Atem had glanced up into the darkening sky at the rising moons above, their faces full. He found a peace in the stars that calmed the upset in his stomach if only a little, and the Prince had contemplated apologizing to his companion once he saw him again. Beyond everything, he was met with the realization that tonight was the eighth since the blacksmith had given them her deadline. By this time tomorrow, Yusei would have his sword, and the following day Atem would have enchanted it, and they would be about their separate ways.

 

The elf felt a gnawing discomfort in that knowledge. In these past nine days since meeting him, Atem had grown to enjoy that man’s presence far more than he had ever anticipated. Within only a week they had grown comfortable enough to speak on equal terms, eating and lounging together like it had been something they had always done, as if it were just a part of their ordinary routine.

 

The Prince wondered if the sorrow he felt now was just a result of how the man’s company numbed his homesickness, whether it really had anything to do with Yusei at all. If anyone else were in his place, would he have felt the same as he did now?

 

Atem had put it out of his mind, settling on apologizing as soon as he could, and started towards the village.

 

Now as he drew closer to that tavern, the last rays of light disappeared from their glow atop the lofty pointed roof. With a torch, a guard lit the lanterns in the street, passing by Atem possessing disinterest with a gentle clink of armor in every step. The Prince thought briefly of his vision, of how Yusei had been on that poster depicting him as a wanted man, and he wondered if there were any truth to what he had seen. The guards hadn’t seemed to mind Yusei as they moved about the city these past eight days. Surely they wouldn’t let a wanted man walk freely…

 

The elf entered the building, pulling the door shut behind him that squeaked lightly on its hinges upon every movement. It was the usual scene. Many were gathered around the fire in the center of the room. Someone played the drums today, and though no one sang, the chatter continued on and on, and would continue on forever still in this place long after Atem had lived his lengthy elven life and perished.

 

He pushed his way past a couple inebriated individuals flirting brazenly with each other and approached the hallway to his rented room. There was no warm glow of candlelight in the cracks between the wood of the door and the frame. Perhaps Yusei had gone to bed, he thought.

 

His gloved fingers pushed the door gently open, letting a lonely flame dance on the tip of his finger to illuminate enough of the room that he could see, but not bright enough to disturb the man possibly sleeping inside. The cot that served as Yusei’s was unoccupied. However, a bundle of something rested on top of it.

 

With a questioning quirk of brow, Atem allowed the flame to blaze larger, filling the air with heat and light. The wall alongside his own cot shifted; a bolt of ice shot down his spine as the darkness along it blended into the shape of hundreds of insects with hundreds more of eyes, dispersing towards him at the doorway with a blinding speed, their pincers and sharp spider mouths open, ready to attack and devour. They closed in on his feet as a hiss of disgust left his lips. The flame in his hand roared to life to strike.

 

The bugs were gone.

 

Atem stood with his heart pounding in his ears, violet eyes wide. He waited for any sign of movement. There was none.

 

There was nothing in the room.

 

The elf stepped forward, letting the fire regress in size; he felt unhinged somehow, as if he could now feel the insects crawling on his consciousness and sinking their venom into it, but he refused with a rebellious simmering to acknowledge them. He at last released a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding when his lungs pleaded him to breathe, and with a last precautionary glance to the wall on the side of the room that he called his, he ambled forward to Yusei’s bed.

 

A pile of armor.

 

It shone with the light of his single flame, its edges glistening as if they were wet. He removed his glove and grazed the breastplate’s cool surface, just to check, but it was dry as his own fingertips, though much cooler to the touch.

 

The Prince could suddenly fathom not why Yusei would go anywhere in town without his armor, especially when he had no sword. Lacking both would leave him nearly entirely defenseless.

 

There were no hot springs nearby; when Atem had first arrived in town he had asked around, but every person he questioned told him that they had no luxuries like that this far south, so far away from the volcano in the north. The people cleaned in large wooden baths filled with heated water here, just as most other places in Klengard.

 

So if not to bathe, what reason did the man have to remove all of his armor and disappear?

 

Atem shifted forward to more closely examine the pile, complete with shin guards and pauldrons, when his foot bumped against something solid beneath the cot. His gaze flickered down as he knelt.

 

Yusei’s bag.

 

The Prince felt a coldness in his belly, one that the fire in his hand did nothing to help. It was as if all of the warmth had been siphoned out of his body, leaving only quills of ice in his nape.

 

With a rushed urgency he stood, sweeping out the door and past the dozens of people gathered in the inn, hollering to each other and minding him not. The music continued, and people sang now, as if everything were right with the world, as if it were just another normal night of festivities deserving of laughter and cheer and absorbent amounts of alcohol.

 

But it was not. It fucking _couldn’t_ be. Atem could feel it in the core of his being that something was very, _very wrong._ Yusei was in danger; he just **knew** it.

 

He beckoned them all with his mind as his gaze flickered over everyone and no one in particular at once.

 

_Someone care. One of you has gone missing. SOMEONE FUCKING CARE._

 

No one did. They chattered and cackled with bellows of laughter but not even one of them sensed his gaze upon them, too preoccupied with getting drunk and having a grand time than even think to worry about this elf slowly beginning to lose his sanity over some swordsman sans a sword.

 

Atem left, ducking out of the way of incoming travelers as they entered the tavern’s front door. He thrusted himself into the darkness of the street, illuminated only by the fires of the lamps about the pathways and passersby with torches and lanterns of their own. One of the women passing chattered with her companion casually, but the words that met his ears were anything but good news.

 

“They’ll be closing the gates soon. Supposedly people turn up dead outside the walls on the full moons.”

 

“Sounds like small town talk. People grow bored and they make up garbage; you know how that goes.”

 

The sharp stab of a splitting headache began in the sides of Atem’s skull, and it was almost as though he could hear the ragged heaving of that monster, lurking in the woods, just beyond sight as it stalked its prey.

 

The image of blood staining his hands permeated his mind with the iron stench of it. He couldn’t tell if it was his own.

 

The sharp glare he cast into the sky at the moons with their luminous faces was marked with a hissing breath.

 

“ _No._ ”

 

No. He would not be killed by that _thing_ tonight, and he was going to find Yusei before he could be either.

 

Atem swept the streets, amethyst eyes lit with a terrified yet steely determination to find the only Klengardian in this village that mattered now. He checked the forge, the butcher shop, and every side-alley and pathway he could find that the man could be isolating himself in—perhaps he felt so rueful that he believed he couldn’t show his face that night in self-punishment—but he was nowhere to be found, no matter how many times Atem looked around or trudged through to inspect the nooks and crannies of the darkness.

 

As he stood staring out over the last empty alley he could find, the thought that perhaps Yusei was outside the walls of the city was one that left his lips twisting in a grimace, but he knew he had no choice but to check.

 

A stinging owl stared down at him with its fulvous eyes and bellowed a short string of hoots into the night sky.

 

A hooded man wandered the main pathway before him, gliding steadily along towards the direction of the gates in view. Despite the stone laid down upon the ground serving as the central walkway, Atem heard no sound from him, and he probably would have missed the shape’s presence had he not turned to see him as he passed.

 

The Prince’s form retreated from the alley, the hollow clacking of his boots upon the stone accompanying his lonely appearance as he followed. He expected the shrouded body a great handful of paces before him to turn off in the direction of his home, as it was getting late, the sun had already set, and the sky was growing pitch black to let the stars and moons shine, but he did not. The figure kept going, passing the guards posted at the gates without their so much as batting an eyelash in his direction. They appeared not to notice him at all.

 

The Dramyrian proceeded all the same, both concerned for the safety of the shadow in front of him and his own in leaving the safety of the village, but he hadn’t a choice. With his companion missing, he would spend the rest of the night with the worry eating away at him slowly. If he left now, he could at least exit without having to use stealth to get past the security.

 

A deep voice barked at him, shocking him from his thoughts and causing him to stop before the body that had stepped in front of him with a blazing torch. “Halt! We’re closing the gate soon; you won’t be allowed to enter until morning if you leave.”

 

Anxiety bit like a flash of painful white at the corners of his mind as he thought of Yusei and the cloaked man who had just left, but he tried not to let it show on his face. “You didn’t tell him.”

 

“Tell _who?_ ”

 

“That man who exited just a moment ago. He walked right in front of you.”

 

The other two guards glanced out into the shadow of the trees beyond the wall, searching for any sign of another person, but they found none. Nothing was beyond the veil of light that surrounded them, or at least, not that they saw.

 

“If this is some sort of trick, _elf—_ ”

 

A spark of indignation lit his eyes with a frustration so potent that the guard stepped back a pace out of caution. “ _It’s not._ Someone needs to tell him before he’s stuck out there. Aren’t you closing the gates because you think there’s something lurking in the forest during the full moons?”

 

A pair of wary hues stared at him from behind a helmet gleaming with the reflection of the torch, but Atem had to push no further for him to yield, stepping aside to let the elf through. “You have three moments[2] before we close the gates.”

 

The twisted grimace on Atem’s lips showed his displeasure clearly in the flickering light, but they would hear no more of his complaints as he moved between them and out the gates. They noticed his air of regality, in the way that he walked, in his indignation. He was nothing like those born from shit but with their noses high in the air, as if they were entitled to honor. _He_ commanded the space he entered. He _demanded_ honor with his very presence. One of the guards shuddered, unsure of whether she wished he would not come back or that he would, lest they all face the consequence of shutting the heavy doors before his return.

 

The dark shadow of night lay heavy over the forest ahead of the Prince, and he had to bite back the feeling of déjà vu and continue on down the main pathway beaten flat by many a wheel, hoof, and foot. He hated the deep-seated nervousness that chilled him from the inside; he had only three moments to find two different people when he had not a clue where either of them were. All was still before him, and the only movement he could sense was his own.

 

The owl from before hooted, much farther than it had been.

 

The Dramyrian Prince cast a glance back in the direction he had come. The torches he had walked past before were now the sizes of pebbles, as were the guards beside them. He hadn’t much time.

 

Atem stopped and faced into the thick of trees, his eyes adjusted to the low light in which the moons above bathed the night. He saw nothing. Heard nothing.

 

He filled his lungs with air, cupping his hands around his mouth to amplify his lilted voice.

 

“They’re closing the gates; head back or you won’t be able to return tonight!”

 

The forest was still.

 

“Yusei! Are you out there?”

 

Nothing.

 

The stab of worry in his chest grew ever more painful. Atem knew it was his fault that he was even out here looking for the man in the first place. If he hadn’t pushed him… if he hadn’t gotten in his space, if he hadn’t worn on Yusei’s patience enough that he would snap… if he hadn’t _touched_ him—this all wouldn’t have happened.

 

The memory ran through his mind again like a haunting—the way Yusei had looked at him, horrified, angry, _terrified_. Atem realized he wouldn’t be able to understand why his companion had looked at him with an expression like that, and perhaps he never would if he didn’t find him, but he would never be able to forget it. It burned in his mind’s eye, scalding as if it had been branded into him with a flaming iron.

 

 _Oh, how badly he wanted to apologize._ How badly he wanted things to just go back to normal, so the both of them could sit around a fire and eat, or stare at the stars above and share stories. Even the silence between them was so much better; he missed the sound of Yusei’s tinkering.

 

Anything but this, a nightmare in the making. It all felt too akin to his vision. The stars stared down at him instead of the peaceful opposite, the moons full and glaring. The air nipped unkindly at his skin.

 

The flutter of movement far ahead in the shadow of trees brought him immediately out of his reflection, charoite eyes focusing on the distance. Muscle memory led his left hand to a rest upon his sword at his opposite hip as a precaution, and he began to stride forward.

 

“Is someone out there?”

 

The forest was quiet, but movement off to his right was all he needed as an answer. His gaze caught it this time; it was a humanoid figure, hooded with dark robes. It had to be that man from earlier, for it wasn’t tall enough to be Yusei.

 

It disappeared yet again into the trunks and leaves, and Atem could feel himself growing impatient.

 

“I know you can hear me. It’s time to return to the town; they’re closing the gates.”

 

A crunch of twigs off to his left made his heart leap, and when his head whipped in the direction of the sound he found the man facing him, hood drawn up over his head and shrouding his face with deeper shadow. However no darkness could hide away the pitch-blackness of his eyes—or perhaps, where his eyes should have been. Two gaping holes met Atem’s gaze, and the sight of it shocked him badly enough that he stumbled backward, catching himself before he could fall on the raised root of a tree crowning above the grass that was already beginning to collect frost.

 

Atem swore quietly in his mother tongue, but when his gazed flickered upward again the man was gone, as if he had never been there to start.

 

“Come out!”

 

A crackle of dry leaves jolted his head to the right, but there stood only darkness. The Prince’s stomach twisted in fear once his hand closed firmly around his sword, releasing it from its seal in its scabbard. His heart pounded in his ears now, making it difficult to detect the slightest of sounds like he needed.

 

For a moment, the night stood still. The moons above filtered their light down through the leaves, and the forest did not speak even a whisper.

 

Nothing moved.

 

Not until a sudden breath on his nape made him rotate so quickly it nearly gave him whiplash. No one was behind him, but the forest was now a blur, spinning with his unexpected dizziness and disorienting every sense of direction within him. He looked in all ways, and yet he still could not find the road. His apprehensive eyes took to the sky. Where had the moons been in the sky before?

 

No, no, _no no no_.

 

He couldn’t get lost now, not when he could be locked out here with whatever in gods’ names that _thing_ he had seen was. But he had no time to even question that, for the shadowy figure at last revealed itself in the distance again, and Atem dared not blink lest he lose sight of the man again, _if he was even a man._

 

The Prince summoned the most commanding voice he could find within him, holding his free hand upward. A gout of fire blazed to life in his palm, reflected by the surface of his sword which he then fully drew from its confines. The light illuminated all of the trees around them, casting sharp, flickering shadows of trunks and leaves on their backdrop.

 

“Enough of your games! Come into the light and reveal yourself!”

 

The man moved not, also making no attempt to dodge back into the darkness. The fire burned violently in his hand now, fed so much magick to burn that it now illuminated the whole decrepit form of the eyeless man, even from so far away. He was robed from head to toe in dark grey, his feet hidden under the length of cloth that masked his whole body. Stringy, black hair framed his face, making his hollowed cheeks and malnourished appearance even more unsavory. Those dead, nonexistent holes for eyes stared at him relentlessly, and all those godsforsaken insects he had seen earlier were now crawling all over the Prince’s body as nothing more than a wretched sensation.

 

The hooded man’s thin lips suddenly cracked into a smile, stretching over jagged teeth to reveal two rows of them on top, and another two on bottom. Many were yellowed or blackened with rot, though none were missing from the craggy mess. Atem’s heart hammered against his ribs, threatening to burst forth from them.

 

_Teeth._

 

This was no human.

 

His grip on the sword in his hand tightened, and he forced his legs to move forward, just a step. Perhaps it were unwise, as there was no telling what this gargoyle of a man could do, but only a brainless oaf would approach him with a fire blazing so turbulently in his control. His blade shimmered with a golden glow, as if sentiently prepared to cut down all evil from the Mire, just as it had been enchanted to do.

 

Atem could get no closer. A sudden swipe of black claws from the darkness sent the man’s head flying, ripped clean from the force of the blow. The body collapsed after its decapitation, blood gushing from the stump of a neck and crumpling to a bloodied heap of grey on the forest floor, and horror struck the Prince like icy knives in the deepest pit of his stomach.

 

Jet black fur, dark as night, met his gaze as it leapt with a roar of a snarl forward onto the body and tore fabric from flesh. The sickening snap of bones met his ears; had it not been for the intoxicating rush of adrenaline, bile would have collected in the back of his mouth with the need to retch.

 

He had no control over it, having no recollection of when it even started in his state of shock, but he was running. Running as rapidly as his legs would carry him in the opposite direction of the terrible beast. In spite of how he had thought he was prepared to stand and fight, his body had its own plans in instinct to survive what the core of him feared to be an unwinnable fight. He knew not which direction it was—and at this point, he couldn't be fucked to care. The moons above glowered down upon him, as if watching for the outcome of this nightmare made flesh.

 

A vibrating howl shook the sky, commanding even the stars to acknowledge its might, their light quivering. The dread like needles had returned, pricking every inch of the Prince’s body with pain and making his nape burn with horror. The sound of paws drumming against the earth closer, closer, heralded the elf’s doom.

 

The wolf was upon him now, a snap of teeth forcing Atem to turn into a fight for his life, lest he desire to end up like the corpse with its severed head thrown somewhere else in the labyrinth of trees. Teeth like knives glinted in the light of the moons as they snapped forward towards the elf with terrifying agility. Atem dodged the strike, setting his sword alight with magickal flames that licked every inch of its previously cool blade.

 

Those snarling jaws were relentless, attacking a second and third time only to be thrown aside with maximal effort in using his sword as a parry. Blood sprayed against the ground with his swing, the tip of his flames having sliced clean through the lip and gum of the monstrosity. Cut with his sword enchanted specifically to deal with Mire-born power, its blood would never clot in the wound to stop the bleeding. If it ever made it out of this skirmish alive, it would bleed for the rest of its life unless counteracted by more powerful magick.

 

There were few alive with more powerful fire magick than Atem. He was born of the Sun.

 

The coming lunge of claws was blocked by a roaring wall of flame with harder defenses than iron. The conflagration raged to defend its caster, illuminating the forest all around with red and orange light. Birds took to the starry, black sky, terrified by the threat of fire, as their non-winged neighbors ran from their burrows and nooks.

 

The wolf could not pass, held to snarl and snap at the magick that promised to burn anything alive that forced itself into its incandescent embrace. Atem turned to sprint from the scene, seizing the opportunity to put any distance between them that he could. The energy needed to maintain the wall sapped him more rapidly than he anticipated; the spell was one he hadn’t done to such a massive scale before, and the strangled sensation of using far too much magick at once forced his hand to sever the incantation to find a beast even more enraged than before on the other side of the fading flames.

 

He waved his arm still lit with fire to draw a starry diagram before him in the air, and ancient gold symbols from his homeland came to life, sparkling at each point. The vociferous paws sprinting to him now were ensnared with ropes of light, tripping the monster and sending it as a toppling heap of fur across the forest floor. Atem conjured three swords made entirely of light[3], commanding them to plummet their shining blades into his enemy in an assault so quick his eyes could barely keep up. To his horror, only one had managed to land, for the wolf had snapped the vines trapping it in place as easily as twigs, wrestling free of their hold just in time to dodge two of the swords aimed for its Mireheart. More blood littered the cold, grassy earth, dripping from its impaled rear haunch and staining its black fur with shining crimson.

 

A moment was all the beast needed to descend upon the elf again with wrathful speed. The blade of Dramyrian corundum caught in the steaming maw, jamming open the jaws lined with deadly fangs for his viewing. The beast was shoving its restricted head forward with the power of its entire body, using raw force to thrash the Prince off balance, but Atem dug his boots into the earth. A deeply imbedded rock in the earth at last stopped the Mirewolf’s advance, and the elf invested every last ounce of his strength to combat the overwhelming power of the beast. His arms and body shook violently in exertion, forcing a hiss of anger and fear from his clenched teeth. For the first time, his gaze connected with that of the beast, its azure eyes reflecting berserk violence. It seemed entirely hysterical, mad with bloodlust, as if it wanted nothing more than to sink its teeth into his body and rip him asunder.

 

Atem’s brows furrowed so deeply into his furious and terrified eyes that the strain of his muscles made his forehead sting. Death was upon him, jaws wide and caught on his sword.

 

He would not die here. _He would not fucking die today to this thing._

 

He shoved back with everything he had, heels digging deep into the earth with the rock as his leverage, and his eyes shimmered a deep ruby in the moonlight. The beast seemed to hesitate, as if its feralness were interrupted for _just_ a sliver of time, and Atem wasted none of the brief opportunity as he drove its head to the side, freeing his sword and allowing the passionate gout of flame completely encasing his forearm now to blast forth. It swallowed the entirety of the wolf’s shoulder, incinerating its fur and making its dark flesh bubble as it seared with molten-hot fire.

 

The howl of pain that met his ears threatened to puncture his eardrums and shred them to pieces, but even that was overshadowed by the gigantic paw that slammed against his breastplate and threw him to the ground, the beast landing atop him, knocking the breath completely from his lungs. He choked out a gasp, struggling for oxygen in the putrid air that smelled like burned hair and skin. The Prince’s body filled with pain of recoil, the hardness of his armor doing nothing to aid the thrashing from within that he had received.

 

Immediately his vision went black. A sluggishness and disorientation like the sleep of a poor nap filled his mind, clouding his judgment and understanding of what had just happened to him. Even the pained howl he heard that had boomed like the tolling of a giant city bell seemed leagues and leagues away from his lolling head. There was a weight on top of him, a heat that kept him warm through his armor even in the biting chill of the night.

 

The feeling of something hot and wet bloomed over his left hand and forearm.

 

Slowly, his vision began to return. The night was silent, and the moons above—the first sight he laid eyes upon—continued to spectate the scene, as if reassuring him the trial was over. A hot form rested over his body, but what he found when his charoite gaze flickered lethargically to it was not a mass of fur. It was mortal skin.

 

More specifically, a bare, burned shoulder.

 

A head of black hair kissed with golden locks was limp, hanging forward and shielding his unconscious face from Atem’s gaze. The warmth of the Prince’s arm drew his attention once again, and he found his hand clenched on the hilt of his sword. His hand was sticky, even within his glove.

 

The elf sucked in an inhale, and the irony scent of death assaulted his nose.

 

Through Yusei’s bare lower back, Atem’s sword stood tall, glistening in gold and blood. Atem’s wide eyes stared at it, not wanting to comprehend what he saw, his mind reeling and _refusing to accept it—_

 

“Gods, **_no._ ** ”

 

He pushed himself and the man on top of him upright, doing his absolute best not to shift the blade that was run through his only companion in this land so foreign to him. He saw it now, the incredible amount of blood that had already coated his furs and armor with a slick sanguine. Blood dripped onto his leg, soaking into the fabric of his pants and painting them too in dark red.

 

Suffering unlike anything else he had experienced filled his chest, something akin to mourning, something akin to the acknowledgement of loss. Even as fondly as he thought of his mother, not even hearing of how she had died had hurt like this. His heart was hammering, his hands shaking as he supported the body of Yusei and the blade protruding from his stomach.

 

“Gods, **_please,_ ** _no—_ ”

 

Atem knew it—one wrong move could end this human’s life, right here and now; he knew it so well that he could feel the tears welling at his eyes, tying his throat in painful knots that made it difficult to even breathe. Harder still was the realization that perhaps Yusei was already too far gone to be saved, that perhaps he would die no matter how carefully or quickly Atem removed the sword from his body.

 

All powers of the Mire cut by his sword would never cease bleeding at the location of injury. His magick did not care that this had all been a mistake, a horrible misunderstanding, a tragic happenstance. His magick would do what it had been commanded by enchantment to do.

 

Yusei would bleed out here.

 

His trembling hand pulled on the hilt as carefully as he could, watching as blood gushed from the wound in response to its withdrawal. When the tip at last exited Yusei’s abdomen, Atem forsook it in his grief, throwing it aside into a patch of grass and dirt.

 

The Dramyrian Prince laid his only counterpart down flat onto the earth, disrobing the outer mantle of fur he wore over his armor and laying it over Yusei’s barren body to keep him warm. He leaned in for only a second after discarding his gloves to check Yusei’s breath and pulse, which barely thrummed beneath his fingertips. Atem’s bloodied hands came alive with a warm glow, and he hovered them just over the man’s covered abdomen, willing every ounce of healing magick within him to bend nature’s laws and work in his favor.

 

It refused.

 

The golden glow encased Yusei’s stomach, and then the rest of his body, but the blood continued to pour. He could feel the magick in the impalement warring with that of his own now, and no matter how he hard he tried to force the enchantment out, it would not budge, its magick far too potent for reversal. Only Yusei’s lip, shoulder, and leg regenerated, but the injury that would be sure to rip his life from him remained.

 

Tears pricked Atem’s eyes, staining his cheeks and dripping freely into the furs beneath him. He could think of no other options, no other solutions, no other ways that he could even so much attempt to save his friend’s life.

 

He had done this. He had enchanted his swords for days in preparation to kill the wolf, and now he had.

 

_And along with it, he had killed Yusei._

 

A sob ripped from his lips, followed by a choked prayer in his native tongue. He pleaded the gods of Sun and Skies, of Earth and Waters, even of Dragons and the Mire for help. He would take any option in his desperation, no matter what it was, no matter how much it cost him.

 

His shaking fingers reached to touch the scarred skin of Yusei’s cheek, and the flash of memory of the way he had reacted so violently the last time Atem tried to touch him stung his mind like he had been cut with glass. His bloodied hand hesitated, drawing back to stain his own cheeks with sanguine as he cleared his eyes of tears, to no avail. They returned as quickly as he wiped them away.

 

The furs were nearly soaked through with blood now, and he could feel himself surrendering to despair. All was lost.

 

A single memory resurfaced in his mind, one of his childhood, as he sat in the great library in his palace with Karim and Mahad reading just next to him. He had gazed into the book before Mahad, a gargantuan tome of spells, his curiosity having gotten the better of him. Atem recalled how that volume had been one containing spells forbidden for the Dramyrian people to read, as many of them dealt with the darkest or otherwise most complicated magicks there were in their records.

 

 _Soul-Stitching: The Needle and Thread,_ the page had been titled. As the young Atem had followed along over his guardian-mage’s book he discovered the spell had been used since ancient times to save a life when all other means had been exhausted. Most people were not even capable of attempting such sorcery which required an extraordinary amount of skill, as it had been noted dozens were recorded perishing to insufficient strength and inept magick ability.

 

 _Life energy for life energy,_ it had said. Depending on the severity of the wound or illness, it could be nearly impossible to save the target without killing the other. As a child, he had not fully understood what that meant, and reading that had concerned him much less than it should have, until Mahad became aware of the small face behind him soaking in secrets that even many adult elves were not permitted to read. An elfling like himself, despite being the Prince, had no business learning anything from that tome at his age.

 

Atem remembered how seriously Mahad had warned him never to so much as _think_ of practicing magick of that caliber, not until he was permitted to read of those kinds of spell books during his preparation to become King, in the last stretch before his formal coronation.

 

As the Prince looked down at the pained and dying face of his only friend, marred by blood and sweat that made locks of his raven hair cling to his forehead and cheeks, he apologized under his breath to his elven caretaker, knowing he would have to now break the promise he had made that day in the innocence of his youth. There was no choice; he _had_ to use that spell now.

 

His hands relaxed, allowing the raw gold of his life’s energy to crown on his skin. The Dramyrian closed his eyes blurred with tears to focus on stirring it from the depths of his soul and summon it upward out of his fingertips. The shimmering threads sunk down, passing deep below the furs over Yusei’s body and hooking into the very fabric of his flesh. The thrum of exhaustion that first came over Atem forced him to reopen his eyes to focus on the energy that now joined them. With each and every stitch into Yusei he felt another pierce in his own abdomen, slowly keeling him forward in crippling pain.

 

Atem had not been prepared for the effects of this, no matter how well he remembered that the tome described all illnesses and injuries causing the imminent death of the Fabric being sewn would be sewn into him in their concluded state. Nevertheless the Prince accepted it without so much as a whimper of pain through his clenched, bared teeth.

 

He had chosen to be the Needle and Thread; this was his price to pay.

 

At last he leaned forward onto a single hand upon the earth, holding him up above Yusei’s chest as his other arm grew too heavy to keep hovering. He allowed it to rest atop the wet furs, forcing the threads to continue their weaving as his breath became labored. In all of his days of living, in sparring sessions, battles with enemies, cuts and injuries by brute force, he had never sustained a physical pain such as this. Never in his days had he ever felt this drained of energy either, like he would faint at any given moment, as if every ounce of his life would be sucked right out from his being.

 

His arm shook under the weight of his body, and his bones strained the skin of the back of his hand, carving deep grooves in his flesh from exertion. With muscles burning, he focused ever still on the Soul-Stitching, until at last he felt deep within his being the way the Fabric pulled together, completely mended. The desperation in his amethyst hues glowed as he used the last of his strength to gingerly pull aside the furs.

 

Beneath, the copious amount of blood was the only evidence that there had ever been an injury. There was no gaping hole of impalement, no scratches, not even a scar. It was as if the threat of death had been nothing more than a hallucination.

 

The deep crease in Atem’s brow at last relaxed as his gaze flickered to Yusei’s unconscious face, and the small quiver of a smile pulled at his lips. He was safe.

 

The Prince saw no more as the last of his energy gave out, and he collapsed forward onto the mass of soaked furs upon the man he had somehow managed to save.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Atem awoke, he did so on a familiar cot, with candles flickering just nearby where they had for the past week. Exhaustion still hung about his body, seeped deep into every muscle and bone. It was a struggle for him to so much as lift his head, and when it proved too difficult for him, he opted to turn it instead in the direction of soft voices at the entrance of the room. Through his bleary vision, he could still make out Yusei’s form, dressed in the clothes he had left in earlier that night, as well as a shorter woman he spoke to just at the doorway. The Prince blinked a couple times to clear the blur, and at last he recognized the girl to be the druid-healer in town, the one from whom he had bought his alchemical ingredients.

 

With a final word, Yusei dropped a few coins into her hand and she left, leaving Atem’s eyes to wander down to the large basin of bloody water beside the bed. Over the back of one of the chairs, his furs were drying, and beside them on the table his golden-silver armor laid, wiped clean of sanguine stains.

 

Yusei at last turned in his direction, pocketing the remaining two measly Claw. His tanzanite eyes laden with guilt flickered to Atem’s face, only for them to widen as he realized the elf was awake. He hesitated and came to a complete stop, looking more troubled than the Prince had ever seen him. It was as if he wanted to keep his distance, not because he believed Atem would hurt him, but that _he_ would hurt _Atem_.

 

It was only when the Dramyrian elf struggled to rise to a sit that Yusei stepped any closer, helping him up and noting his fatigue as Atem even had to lean against the wall whilst sitting, his breath labored for a moment.

 

“How did you get us back within the walls?”

 

Yusei stared at him in disbelief. Of all the things he could have said to him now, after everything he had seen, experienced, and now knew about him, he asked a question like _that?_

 

A humorless, incredulous laugh left him, but not once did his lips so much as twitch in the direction of a smile. His scowl was deep, casting a severe shadow over his face. The candlelight only made that worse.

 

As Atem looked up at the man before him, Yusei’s eyes avoiding his, he could sense somehow that things would never be the same between them again after what had transpired that night. And when Yusei’s mouth opened, hesitating, but speaking at last, Atem’s confirmed worries sat in the pit of his stomach as a dread so heavy he felt like it would send him plummeting into the earth’s crust.

 

“It was a mistake staying here with you. I shouldn’t have waited… or remained in any town for so long. I was a fool for thinking I could just leave for a night without dragging you into this mess.”

 

The words burned him like scorching fire, but the Prince pressed back despite it.

 

“Yusei, you’re wrong. You didn’t drag me into anyth—”

 

The human’s eyes were dark with self-loathing, laden with such culpability that he shut them and spoke to end any more attempts to salvage the mess he had made.

 

“As soon as the morning comes, I’m leaving, Atem.”

 

From the window, four rows of teeth smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Fulshon: a breed of ram-like goat. They have been domesticated by Klengardians for hundreds of years, though many are also found in the wild.  
> 2 Moment: a common measurement of time, which a period of 90 seconds.  
> 3 Three Conjured Swords Made Entirely of Light: a reference to the Duel Monsters card _Swords of Revealing Light_!
> 
> I hope you loved the twists and turns of this chapter!! It hurt me to write a lot of this but I GOTTA DO IT. Please comment to tell me your thoughts!


	6. Murderer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy this took 20 days to publish and I'm behind schedule, but HERE I AM.
> 
> Also, please check out the [amazing full commission my friend @laskaath did for this fic](https://78.media.tumblr.com/ba5069b6a4968b81862317aaa45f99d4/tumblr_p0jafx8mKG1von959o1_1280.png)!

Atem never dreaded the thought of sunrise as much as he did now, as he sat with the weight of his body such a burden that he slumped against the wall alongside his cot. The aching that had sunk into his chest at the reality that he would so suddenly lose the man kneeling before him was one with which he was not familiar. His mind reeled at the very notion of being alone again after having spent time that he, until now, had not realized he cherished so very much.

 

“You’re going? Just like that?”

 

Yusei took one look into his eyes and wished he hadn’t. There in pools of sugilite lay a vulnerability in hurt, in betrayal, one that even Atem who typically had an iron command on his emotions was unable to prevent surfacing in his gaze. The human had to turn his eyes away as he stood, and he knew well that it made him a coward.

 

“The morning is almost here. I would have been leaving tomorrow in any case; is it that much of a difference if I depart a day early?”

 

The comment stung even hotter than it would have, because the Prince did not know the answer to that, nor how to respond to the man in a way that could possibly change his mind when he sounded as resolute as he did now. Atem was at a complete loss, his hues flickering down to his pant legs which were already caked with dried blood. The torso of his off-white tunic had somehow survived the night beneath his armor without staining, though as he could see now, the sleeves were another story.

 

When the Dramyrian’s voice resurfaced, it sounded hollow and meek, carrying none of the same confidence it normally possessed. “What of your sword?”

 

“I’ll retrieve it from the blacksmith. You’ll still enchant it?”

 

The Prince parted his lips to answer, but he found in that moment he could not, and the sound died in his throat. A trepidation poisoned his stomach now as he sat, realizing for the first time since waking that something was, terribly, extraordinarily wrong with his body, the way it felt, in the fullness of his being.

 

The warm hum in his flesh that had always accompanied him, no matter where he went, no matter how much of his energy he used, was gone. His skin no longer tingled when he concentrated on it. The spinning current within the core of his being had been reduced to nothing but a small puddle, one with little motion that he could detect.

 

He tried now to bring flame to the tips of each of his fingers, something he had been capable of doing since he was a mere toddler. Sparks lit at all ten points, but fizzled out immediately after, dying without so much as a breath of smoke.

 

His magick was gone.

 

Atem’s mouth felt dry, like he hadn’t drunk water in days.

 

“No.”

 

He saw not how Yusei’s expression darkened to one of apprehension, for he did not understand what Atem was doing, nor the realization to which he had come. All he could think of was what was ahead of him, the danger he would encounter that he would have to _fight_ using a weapon that could not aptly defend him. He would die without a properly-enchanted sword, just as he had nearly died to a mere _axeman_ in this shithole of a town. His foe ahead could have crushed that man with nothing more than a look; what more could it do to him if he was half armed?

 

“You said after it was made, you would enchant it, and I could be about my way. _You promised_ —”

 

“ _I can’t do magick anymore._ ”

 

Silence overcame the room. Both men found their gazes locked on each other, Yusei’s tanzanite hues wide, he struggled to search Atem’s for an explanation, for an elaboration, for _any details_ that would tell him what those despondent eyes were holding within them. Moments, hours, millennia passed before either of them spoke, and finally Yusei did so in disbelief.

 

“What?”

 

Atem’s hand reached out in the direction of the candles to let his actions speak in place of words, waving his hand to extinguish them as he had done so many times before. They merely flickered, as if having been blown by a soft breeze, but did not go out. His eyes closed in a sullen acceptance as Yusei struggled to understand what he was seeing.

 

In all of his days, even through all of the sights he had seen through his Mirewolf’s memory, he had never encountered a mage with such sorcerous power—one that could command gouts of fire like his servant, walls of flame like army defenses, swords of light like his battalion.

 

No one had ever brought him so close to death before in that wretched form, and Yusei was left suddenly to wonder how the elf had managed to save his life at all. He remembered the pain of the sword running through him— _oh, how it burned hotter than any fire he had ever touched_ —and he remembered the excruciating snap of his bones as they were, for the first time, forced to _revert_ back into their human forms. At the time, he had known exactly what was causing it; he was **dying**.

 

What had Atem done to stop that? What had he done that put him in such a state as he was now, out of breath by merely sitting, unable to cast spells or even so much as manipulate the flames that had always seemed unconditionally loyal to his command?

 

It was the first he could dedicate time to think of it tonight, as the rest had been spent desperately making sure the male would survive the night, even going to the extreme of calling upon the aid of the druid-healer at such an unholy hour. Much to his relief, she had agreed, but when she tried to heal the man’s elven companion, her expression was overcome with confusion, and she informed Yusei there was nothing left to heal. Instead, she watched over him, even assisting to wipe the blood from his face and arms, as well as leaving a pouch of ingredients to brew to help him recover from the night.

 

“When I woke, all of my injuries were gone. I had been mortally struck—run through with your enchanted sword. I shouldn’t have survived that… so how did you manage to heal me? What did you do that would cause you to lose all of your magick?”

 

Atem hesitated to speak, choosing his words carefully before uttering them into existence. With his exhaustion, he had to be all the more guarded against saying something about his identity he would regret. His face turned away from the candlelight, casting a shadow over his contrite countenance.

 

“I relied on a very old spell, one I was told never to use. It sacrifices life energy for life energy—an even exchange. I had to stitch my magick into you; I didn’t have any other choice—”

 

“You nearly killed yourself with forbidden sorcery to save a monster like _me?!_ ”

 

Atem tried to stop himself from cringing at how sharply that bit him, and it was apparent by the way Yusei stepped back in retreat that he immediately felt remorse, his breath sped. How he could demand answers like that of someone who had risked and given everything to save his life, even knowing what he was, was beyond him. But the pull of the full moons ruled over his mood, just as they did over the tides of the sea, making his emotions volatile. He would have never snapped twice at Atem like he had if he were still himself.

 

He turned, gloved hands shaking as he eased the bristling sensation of hairs upon his nape with his palm. Allowing himself to take a seat upon his cot, he took a moment to calm his heart, looking slowly up to the man across from him. He looked so small now, nothing like the elf that exuded confidence with his very presence. Instead, he sat, looking like an injured animal, spurned and alone.

 

But how could anyone blame him for appearing that way? Yusei realized for the first time now that Atem _was_ alone, just as he was. A traveler from a foreign country, the elf had no one here. No one to help him, no one to take him back to his own lands, no one to watch over him in his time of need. The blood of all elves was magick—it was the source of nearly all of their internal power—and here one was, without any left. Wasted all on _him_.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Yusei felt Atem’s gaze flicker to him, and he struggled to meet it.

 

“No. _I_ should apologize, for making you feel like you couldn't return. I shouldn't have overstepped my boundaries.”

 

The breath of a sigh left the human, and his eyes locked on his gloved hands for a moment of contemplation, knowing not why he hesitated. Atem had seen the worst of it, fought the worst of it, nearly _died_ in an attempt to save the worst of it. Perhaps the elf had already seen, but something in the way the man looked at him told him otherwise.

 

Nevertheless his fingers shook in uncertainty. They continued to tremble even as he peeled the gloves from his hands, exposing the abhorrent sight that had been so fearfully hidden beneath all this time.

 

Black fur covered his human hands, his ghastly nails long and sharp in the shape of claws. Flesh-colored at the beds faded to black at their razor tips, appearing as though he had dipped them in ink and left them to dry. Normal human skin remained to be seen until he rolled up the sleeves of his tunic, the hair black as midnight finally blending out at his biceps where there was no sign of the eyesore below. Yusei presented his arms with a clench of jaw.

 

Atem’s amethyst eyes caught on the sight, wide and unable to look away. His throat was dry, and it suddenly stung to even swallow.

 

“My legs and feet are the same… If you had seen this, you would have known I was **cursed** .” The man’s voice broke, as if shattered like glass, and it took him a moment to regain his composure. “I'm not fully human anymore. On every full moons _this_ advances, more each time. Soon, there won't be anything of me left. I'm no good to anyone walking amongst people. If you were smart, you would let me _leave_.”

 

The Prince found himself at an utter loss for words, no matter how he tried to force them to come. Curses of this magnitude were not unheard of, but they were rare, and there were few who could be capable of something as treacherous as this.

 

“Who did this to you? What magick is this?”

 

Yusei hesitated, silence filling the room as a candle sizzled beside them. At this point however, there was nothing left to lose in telling the elf before him. Atem had more than earned trustworthiness through his actions, as loath as the human was to admit it. He had spent years in solitude after severing the only bonds he ever had, keeping everyone at a distance from that point on, letting no one close. It felt _wrong_ to even think he could find something like companionship or understanding in Atem.

 

Even still, the concern in the Dramyrian’s eyes was all it took to hammer down that last wall of defense he had built around himself and hid behind for so long.

 

“A Gorgon, in the north. She cast the Curse of Wildekin on me.”

 

The Prince’s face grew grave. He had only ever heard of Gorgons in ancient texts of vile beasts, humans turned wicked after selling their souls to foul powers and necromancy. He still remembered the depictions of them, sketched with great detail in giant books in the library of his palace—tresses of snakes, scales for skin, and terrible serpentine tails for travel. A single bite from a single snake was all it took to kill, though they preferred a much slower torment for their victims. Slow, tortuous curses were entirely in line with their predilections.

 

As for the curse… he had never heard of a spell like that before, but context told him nearly everything he needed to know. Yusei was enslaved by the moons, and he imagined the curse took its full effect when their faces were full and their power was at a maximum.

 

“The something you said you wanted to slay?” Atem’s eyes glimmered with worry. To wish to take on something with a power of that magnitude…

 

“You don’t have to tell me that I’ll die trying. I know that.”

 

The flicker of devastation that flashed across Atem’s features was missed by Yusei’s turned gaze, and at last he had run out of things to say. The man had made up his mind, set in his own ways and unreachable by reason. In his state, there was nothing more he could do to help. He was dead weight; for Vamora’s sake, he couldn’t put out a godsforsaken candle or even sit up properly. What could _he_ do now against one of the deadliest daemons that roamed the known world?

 

Atem struggled forward to the edge of the cot, letting his legs swing over the side to find stable footing. He felt disgusting, disoriented, like all of this was a harrowing nightmare from which he just couldn’t wake. The caked blood on his skin did nothing to aid that feeling, and he desperately wanted to wash it away, so he pulled at the sleeves of his tunic, tugging the fabric slowly over his head. His abdomen stung, muscles shaking, feeling too weak to so much as sustain the movement. The Prince forced them to listen to his command, his tremor coming to a halt at last when he had stripped the shirt from his body.

 

Much to his relief, there was a bucket of clean water beside the basin of opaque, bloodied water, a cloth hung over wooden rim. Atem dipped his hand into it and resisted a flinch from its biting temperature, satisfied nonetheless when the blood emanated away from his skin like smoke when he rubbed his fingers softly together. He took the cloth and wrung it with his dwindling strength, filling the room with the lonely sound of water dripping into the filled pail. Slowly, the blood was wiped from his arms.

 

From across the room, Yusei’s eyes remained locked on Atem’s form. Not on his movement, nor Dramyrian limbs in the process of being cleaned, but on the elf’s abdomen, staring wordlessly in horror at the gruesome scar of a stab wound that he knew deep in the core of his being _should have been his_. He needn’t have seen Atem’s back, for he knew it was the same at the exit of the impaling, the tissue an angry red with irritation and freshness just as it was on his stomach.

 

The Prince wrung out the cloth after rinsing it clear of blood to continue where he left off, and Yusei felt his heart being wrung right along with it, as if it would tear and unravel into millions of threads that could never be woven back together if it were allowed to come undone.

 

Atem would never practice magick again. He would have to live with that atrocious disfiguration for the rest of his life—even Yusei’s scarring was nothing compared to _that_ —and be forced to see it every time he looked down at his own body. He would live with the traumatic memory of that wolf, chasing him down and ripping him to shreds in every nightmare, just as Yusei had. He would be weak, he would shake, he would tremble, and he struggle in every movement, for _gods knew how long_.

 

All of this…

 

_Everything…_

 

**It had all been his fault.**

 

Yusei could stand it no longer, the insufferable pain in his chest having grown too much to bear. He could no longer sit as he did and watch idly, but he never wanted to lay so much as a finger on Atem again, even in an attempt to help him. He had lost that privilege.

 

His gaze shifted down to his monstrous hands, and he tugged on his gloves to conceal them, to hide them—and what he was—from world once again. The man rose from his seat, bothering not with his armor, only his bag, and exited silently to give Atem the courtesy of cleaning in private. If he were to die now without the defense of his breastplate, he deserved it.

 

Atem remained, fingers shaking under the weight of his emotions, knowing it was the end. It was the end of his life as a powerful magickal, the end of his excursion, and very possibly the end of his future as a king. How could he protect his people now when his body fought him with so little as cleansing? He imagined stepping down, relinquishing his rightful claim to the throne to his cousin, who now would surely do a much better job of ruling over Dramyria than he ever could in this state. Tears pricked his eyes. There were reasons why his country was better off keeping to itself, and his father had warned him of the terrible dangers of this land.

 

Coming here had been a grave mistake.

 

When morning came and the Sun stretched her warm hands over the side of the inn, Yusei went to retrieve his sword.

 

He did not leave.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Days passed at the tavern, and the world went on in spite of the life-altering experiences the two had faced. At last, Yusei was reunited with a sword to call his own, and though it lacked an enchantment, it served its purpose for the meantime as he remained in the village, protecting him from human dangers and dissuading pickpockets and thieves.

 

Atem took to staying primarily within the inn, as his former energy escaped him. The first day, he had had trouble walking, prompting a pair of strong yet hesitant gloved hands to come to his aid, as much as it seemed he didn’t want to touch him. The Prince would never forget the way Yusei had looked at him later that morning after returning to sleep, when he had fallen to a kneel from exhaustion, his knees buckling and giving out under him when he attempted to cross their room. Within a moment, Atem found the swordsman at his side, his gaze colored with dismay and a guilty conscience. All the elf requested was a hand up, unwilling to let go of his pride and admit defeat, and somehow his resolve weakened Yusei’s reluctance to touch him with those wretched hands of his, shielded only by hide gloves.

 

Fortunately the ability to amble for a short time without falling short of breath returned the following morning, after a full night’s rest and a hearty meal in the tavern.

 

The innkeeper seemed to empathize with him, and all he knew of Atem’s condition was that he had been wounded outside the walls on that night of the full moon. Rumors spread that the daemon haunting the woods had been responsible, and it was a believable-enough story when Yusei dragged Atem’s unconscious body into the tavern that night, the both of them drenched in blood, that the giant pressed for no details, even insisting on providing a couple suppers on the house for the elf.

 

Yusei took to assisting Atem whenever he needed it, so wracked with guilt that he could not bear to leave the man on his own and go his own way, not while he was still like _this_.

 

The Prince discovered that his capacity to do magick had not been completely exhausted, as he still had a small reserve of it left, but nevertheless he avoided relying on any of it as it no longer regenerated anywhere near as quickly as it had in the past. Nearly all that was restored would be instantly drained away by the Soul-Stitched scar in his abdomen, and Atem feared it would be his fate for the rest of his life.

 

But he would never tell Yusei that.

 

The two didn't eat dinner together as they had before. If it hadn't been for his desire to grow stronger again, Atem probably wouldn't have touched his food much either, as he had no appetite, and the fare all seemed to be flavorless on his tongue. Yusei would remain at a distance, though never too far lest the elf need his help, and he only seemed to leave during meal times, when Atem imagined he went about the town or the forests surrounding for his food.

 

Just as he did now, the Prince reclined often in a chair near the fire during the daytime when few people were about the inn, the flames chasing away the chill of his weakened body. His stomach and skin hummed with a feeling of ease after ingesting some of the tea the druid-healer had collected for him, which chased away the shaking of his hands and feeling of weakness of his muscles, if only for a while. Finally he was able to dedicate more of his time to his books, drinking deep of their knowledge, even if perhaps it was all for nil. Yusei noticed how, through the elf’s actions, he refused to surrender to his loss. The swordsman wasn't sure whether to feel admiration or sympathy.

 

Yusei sat merely several feet away, having returned to his habit of tinkering with those pieces of metal he carried with him. The two hadn't said much to each other, just as they hadn't within the last couple days, but the silence couldn't have been described as uncomfortable even though they were the only two within the hall—the giant had gone outside with the two ladies he employed for woodchopping and tending to the animals.

 

Somehow, they both still found a peace within their shared silence.

 

That was, however, until it was shattered by a flurry of guards exploding through the front entrance, polished armor gleaming and drawn swords threatening violence. Yusei’s azurite eyes were wide and alert with fear, and one glance was all it took for Atem to realize something severe and terrible was nigh.

 

Before Yusei could so much as stand from his seat, the tips of at least a half of a dozen swords were aimed to his neck, making him grow deathly still to avoid the wrath of any single one of them.

 

Atem remembered suddenly something he hadn't thought of in days.

 

The poster from his vision.

 

Did they know what he was?

 

“You're under arrest for the deaths of two citizens of Shattersword Bay, and for fleeing persecution at the site. What say you in your defense?”

 

Atem watched the apple of the man’s throat dip in a dry swallow, but his body moved not, nor did his mouth. The elf saw how his jaw clenched, seeing the expectation of the end in Yusei’s eyes.

 

He would be thrown in a cell until his execution, whether that be by beheading or hanging. The man couldn’t help but think that now, he deserved it, for what he had done to the elf sitting only a handful of feet away from him.

 

The guards had taken no notice of Atem, seeming to ignore him altogether. Perhaps they sensed his feebleness, or perhaps the danger that Yusei imposed was so great that no attention could be spared to anything else other than him. No matter what, there was no escape. If his hand so much as twitched towards his sword they would decapitate him without a second’s hesitation. And gods, how much more of a scarring burden he would be to Atem and this tavern if it were to end like that.

 

“I surrender.”

 

“Then _heel._ ”

 

A guard grabbed him by the scruff of his furs, forcing him to his knees with a boot to the back. He hit the floorboards with a painful _thump,_ and chains were revealed in the place of what was typically rope, Yusei’s arms forcefully wrenched up to be bound by them.

 

Atem watched in horror, the crackling and warmth of the fire seeming worlds away now. The human did not glance in his direction once, even as the Prince’s gaze burned into the side of his face, and the elf realized Yusei must have been trying to protect him. If the guards knew not that their prisoner was associated with Atem, he would be able to walk freely from this. Yusei knew too well that the elf was far too weak now to survive wasting away in a cell, or the torture that would come with it. This way, he could go home, he could leave town, he could do anything until word got to the guard that they had been staying together. The swordsman prayed with what little faith he had in the gods that Atem would depart from here immediately.

 

He kept his eyes trained downwards, saying not a word as he resigned to his fate, but the tolling in his conscience boomed loudly, echoing off of the walls of his mind and screaming for Atem not to move, not to get involved, to just stay silent as he was chained and led out.

 

_Save yourself. I deserve this._

 

In his peripheral, he saw the elf rise from his seat, hesitating still, as if deliberating whether he was even capable of intervening.

 

**_Stop. Don’t come for me._ **

 

Atem’s hands raised, glowing with a golden light before it died quickly in his palms. Yusei’s heart pounded in his chest, so loud that it drowned out the sound of the shifting of armor of the guards around him. Time seemed to slow to only a fifth of its speed. The Prince took a deep breath, and with his inhale his hands glimmered with a gold so dense that it could not be seen through. A guard turned toward Atem, taking notice of his magick, and with eyes wide in panic Yusei’s gaze locked on the countenance of his companion, finding a determination there in charoite hues that terrified the Were to his core.

 

His lips had no time to even part before a magnificent circle of light opened up before the elf’s hands, expanding and surrounding them all. The guards were far too slow, too inattentive and unversed in sorcery to understand what was happening, and by the time they all turned their attention to the Dramyrian with his eyes as hard as dragonscale, they were too late to do anything about it.

 

The circle exploded outwards, the golden mist latching onto every one of the guards and the kneeled Yusei, and the man suddenly found it hard to remember how he had even gotten there, or why so many sentries surrounded him. The chains around his forearms looked foreign, as if he had never before seen them, and the only familiar thing amongst it all was his dark-skinned counterpart and the tavern that surrounded them. A few of the guards sunk slowly to the floor, clutching their helmeted heads in confusion and disarray as they too were left unable to remember any details of the immediate past.

 

But Atem knew this was no time to delay, and within only a sliver of a moment his hand was upon Yusei’s wrist, tugging with an urgency and strength disproportionate to how much energy of which his body should have been capable. Yusei saw the desperation in his face, in his eyes, and without question he cast his doubts aside and followed. Atem had already grabbed the man’s sword and bag, handing them off to him the instant he seemed to be stable on his own two feet after the disorientation of the Prince’s spell.

 

“ _You performed magick_...”

 

“Get your things; we have to go _now._ The spell isn’t strong, and it will wear off in only a moment; if we go before then, they won’t have any way of remembering that we left.” Atem led into their room and grabbed his things from the table, tossing only the soft cloth of an alternate tunic haphazardly into his bag and being gentle with the rest to avoid breaking any of the small bottles within its pockets.

 

Yusei stood at a loss after shrugging on the strap of his baldric over his shoulder, his few items already stowed away safely in his bag.

 

“What do you mean _‘we?’_ I’m not taking you along with me so you can be captured down the line as an accomplice. You had nothing to do with this; if anything you were a _victim._ ”

 

The bite of Yusei’s voice stung his pride, but the elf would not let it show on his visage.

 

“Of what was I a victim—my own decision to help?” Atem’s unyielding gaze met Yusei’s, and the Klengardian found the hairs on his nape standing on end in a mix of shame and hesitancy that he had never before experienced. The Prince swept past him, leading back out the door and already feeling the exhaustion and lightheadedness come with exertion. “We haven’t the time to discuss this now. We must go.”

 

Once again, Yusei found he was at odds with himself. If Atem were to come along with him, he was certain the elf would soon completely exhaust himself. He could see the weariness in the Dramyrian’s eyes already, no matter how much he pushed it aside to focus on the issue at hand. However it wasn’t as though Yusei could just leave him behind either; gods no, how could he leave Atem as he was, after he had yet again saved his hide?

 

The man struggled with his uncertainty but cast the thought away for the time being. He knew if he didn’t move now, soon there would be no options to ponder. Yusei hurried after Atem, passing the guards who were all still scattered on the floor of the tavern’s main hall, and within a moment the door of the rear entrance was shut firmly behind them as they escaped into the foggy streets of the town. They dodged into muted shadows, the light sky above a haze of misty grey that hung over the town in a thick blanket.

 

Yusei found the back of an arm against his chest, holding him from advancing any farther away from the wall against which they stood. Atem’s gaze was the most serious he had seen it since that first night they met, as he surveyed the area around them and around the corner of the back of the inn.

 

“If the guards here are in any sort of earnest, they’ll have another group waiting nearby as a precaution.” His voice left him as a hiss of a whisper, sure to be drowned out by even the sound of the breeze through the trees above had the swordsman been standing any farther away. “We’ll have to get out of the city without being seen if we’re to escape a pursuit further down the line.”

 

He motioned for Yusei to follow, assuming an impossibly casual stride while keeping his head turned away from oncoming people, who seemed not to notice them at all as they passed. Around another building and they dodged back into a dark pathway behind a home’s garden and chicken coop and the trees just beyond.

 

“This isn’t your problem, Atem. There’s no sense in risking your own life again, especially not for something I’ve been running from for years.”

 

The heat of the taller man’s gaze burned into the side of his face, making him feel uncomfortably hot even in the midst of the cold day, but the Prince’s mind remained unchanged. “You would do the same for me.” A twitch of his mouth downward colored his expression with something heartfelt. “You _did_ the same for me… They said you killed two people, but based on everything I’ve seen this past cycle of moons I have the inkling that that wasn’t something you did of your own will. In my kingdom, we don’t make judgments where crucial details are missing.”

 

“You’re not in your kingdom; they’ll judge you right along with me if they find us traveling together.”

 

“They may surely _try._ ”

 

Atem’s violet gaze flickered to two distant armored figures in the fog headed their way, one carrying the flaring form of a torch. Yusei followed at the Prince’s heels as he wove back between the buildings, evading the sight of townspeople and guards alike. No one looked their way; to them, it was just any other leisurely day in town, and there was hardly any cause for concern in going about mundane tasks. The elf doubted anyone was paying enough attention that they would be able to say they had passed the two even if they were questioned by guards.

 

The swordsman’s voice was as soft as the twittering of birds in the distance when he at last spoke again, his head bowed just slightly to avoid looking alert, but his sapphire eyes vigilant and fierce. Atem couldn’t help but notice with a minute stab of fright how like the Mirewolf he appeared now with his stare, and any sliver of doubt the future sovereign still harbored was wiped cleanly from his mind; they were one and the same. “At least tell me where we’re going.”

 

“The stables. We won’t stand a chance getting away on foot if they pursue us on horseback. It will be true in any other towns.”

 

Yusei cast a slow glance behind, careful not to draw attention to them with his motion. When he saw no one of interest, the tension in his shoulders eased just a hair. The man had little understanding of what Atem had done to the sentries back at the tavern, but now was hardly the time to ask for a long-winded explanation. Either way, it seemed at the moment they weren’t being hunted like prey.

 

The human couldn’t help but feel guilty for all of the trouble he had caused the inn owner. From the fight just after Atem’s arrival and damaged property, to dragging the elf’s lifeless, bloodsoaked body back to their rented room, to this, a garrison of sentinels bringing their unsheathed swords and threat of violence into his place of honest business. Granted, no one else was inside, but Yusei cringed at the thought of leaving the giant with his mess after everything the fellow had done to help them both. The swordsman prayed to gods that had already forsaken him to spare the titan.

 

The sudden feeling of a gloved hand clamping onto his own and tugging hard on his person had him lurching out of his own thoughts as he was pulled into a crouch in the shadows of a corner. Yusei’s lips opened in question, but before he could so much as manage a whisper, Atem shook his head, gesturing with a nod to the chorus of clinking armor as it quickly approached, blending in rapidly from the typical quiet bustle of the town. From the sound of it, they were running, and the Prince pulled the man beside him farther into the passageway, behind a collection of three barrels for cover.

 

Their suspicions were confirmed when they saw a group of guards hurry past, two of them hesitating to leer down the pathway from behind helmets whose shine was muted in the haze of fog. Neither of them breathed until the two disappeared from sight and were heard running off after the others, and when at last Atem felt they were in the clear he let out a shaky breath, finally noticing that his hand was still clenched firmly around Yusei’s.

 

He withdrew his arm a little too quickly, a rush of hot blood sweeping over his nape in embarrassment as he briefly wondered why the man hadn’t protested in some way, given his reaction before. Atem tried not to let it show on his face as he peered around the corner of a joining path, waiting for any alarming sounds before he rose to his feet.

 

Yusei looked at him with a questioning gaze that he understood quickly.

 

“Elves have a better sense of hearing than humans do, as I’m told.”

 

The man glanced at the elf’s jeweled ears, but Atem ignored it all the same. He would allow it, for Yusei was one of the few humans he had come across who didn’t stare.

 

The Prince turned on his heels, approaching the open street with caution as he glanced about yet again. His ears wouldn’t lie to him if those sentries were still moving, but he was more than familiar with the tactics of the royal guard in his own homeland, as many times he had taken part in training them. Stealth, traps, and ambushes were only a few of their methods. It seemed the guards here were trained nowhere near as well, but underestimating them could very well lead to their downfall. Atem would take no risks—he _couldn’t_ , not with so much on the line.

 

They both fled from the alley, taking to the street again for a short time, but never venturing far from alternate escape routes. The males said nothing to each other, only ever casting a glance or two at each other for communication’s sake, and it wasn’t until they arrived at the stable at the outskirts of the city and entered the open barn that they came to a stop.

 

Inside, the spacious room was filled with gentle, grey light filtering in from the open windows above. The smell of horses was a heavy one, along with the scent of hay and manure. It was a stench they were both familiar with, and it hardly bothered them as they ambled in, hay rustling beneath their boots.

 

There, on the other side of the room and tending to his horses, stood what they assumed to be the stable master: a man of average height with long, black, braided hair. In his arms was a bundle of hay, which he hesitated to put down when he noticed the two approaching. He saw Yusei first, as he was the taller and broader of the two, but what really caught his eye was the sword mounted on his back. His gaze then shifted down to the elf, noting his weapons, but more so his dark skin and pointed ears.

 

His hazel eyes narrowed.

 

“ _Sun on your path._ ”

 

The man set the hay down, the horse beside him stretching its head over the gate to pick at the top of the pile, and straightened, seeming surprised to hear the Klengardian greeting leave the mouth of a clearly foreign elf.

 

“ _Shade on your shoulders._ What have you both come for?”

 

“Two horses, if you have them to sell.” Atem glanced at the many stalls, at the seven horses occupying only some of them. All of them looked strong and well-fed, capable of the tasks for which he and Yusei would need them. He felt the soft glimmer of hope within his chest. This would guarantee their freedom.

 

But that was abruptly shattered when the stable master spoke again, his arms folding intolerantly over his chest with a gaze that spoke only of hatred and disgust.

 

“Not to your kind.”

 

Atem’s visage darkened, his brows growing heavy in a furrow atop his charoite hues. It wasn’t the first time he had faced this kind of treatment since he had arrived in this country, and he was certain it wouldn’t be the last, either. But with so much on the line, he couldn’t afford to argue and fight over a matter like this, as much as it pulled on the indignant pangs of anger within him.

 

Yusei saw the conflicted, growing rage on his companion’s face and felt the promise of security slipping from his fingers, as if it had been covered in terrible, black sludge, and in a desperate attempt to seize hold of it again, he stepped quickly forward, interrupting any biting remarks Atem may have been thinking of making.

 

“The horses are for me. We’re traveling to Kincardine, but we need to make a couple stops on the way that caravans passing through won’t be visiting.”

 

The man still seemed unamused, his stance unbudging as he scrutinized them both. “Then you’re his keeper? It surprises me that you wouldn’t already have had a method of transport planned if you were transporting an exotic prize such as _that._ ”

 

Had Yusei not been so focused on convincing the man of his story, perhaps he would have seen the way Atem now seethed with anger, filled with so much vehement emotion that he nearly shook with it. The concept of slavery was one that had made his blood boil ever since he acquired a full understanding of it as a child, and this absolutely could not be considered an exception. The slave trade had been outlawed in Dramyria for far longer than he had been alive as a prince, and he would make sure that it would stay so for far after he perished and returned to the sands of the desert. Countless times he had seen his father order the rooting out and arrest of slaveholders and their dens of treachery, and those said keepers were never met with a merciful judgement when they were dragged before the throne in chains, like they had done with their victims.

 

To imply that his people were being bought and sold here like animals, _exotic prizes from a foreign land_ —gods, he couldn’t remember the last time he had been fueled with this much rage. His lips twisted in a furious grimace, teeth bared and eyes a flaming crimson as he jabbed a thumb into his breastplate for emphasis and marched forward to close the distance between himself and the man before him.

 

“ _No one_ **owns** me, nor **any** of my people _. Letting your myopic views skew the conduct of your business—_ recognize that you have been spared from the gods’ wrath if you have not yet been _taught_ to respect **all** of their children. If you were wise, you would rethink your views and reconsider refusing us your horses.”

 

As if flames Atem could no longer wield would burst forth from his hands and set everything in the man’s barn ablaze, the stable master staggered back with hazel eyes wide in both fear and mesmerization, as if entranced by the sudden authority that the elf commanded. He understood quickly the power Atem wielded, unseen but by no means intangible, and with a shuddering gasp he grew still, stabilizing himself against a stall post adjacent to him.

 

Yusei watched with bated breath, suddenly brought back to the tavern many phases1 ago when he had watched Atem corner his assailant like a frightened animal, before those beady eyes had lost all desire to fight and grew completely listless. He could find little difference in the scene before him, and the Were couldn’t convince himself that it was nothing more than a coincidence.

 

It was all too similar.

 

The swordsman only remembered to breathe at last when the groom spoke, and Yusei noticed how the grimy nails of one of his hands were still dug into the wood of the post he so strongly gripped.

 

“I can only sell them for three gold and twenty-five silver a piece. _That’s all I can afford_ —”

 

The Prince, with an aggrieved air, dug double that amount as payment for both out of his coin purse and dropped the Claw into the man’s hand, and despite his frustration, he approached the horse of his choice and fastened the saddle to it without it so much as whinnying in concern. It looked completely at peace, as if a stranger were not invading the space of its stall.

 

The tales were true. Elves had a relationship with animals that surpassed those of humans’.

 

The breeder still looked at a complete loss as his sold white gelding was mounted and ridden past him, halting to wait only for Yusei. In spite of the urgency, Yusei’s azurite hues focused not on a horse, but instead the pile of furs atop the boxes to their right. They may have been escaping death now, but Winter’s frigid arms awaited them in the desolation of wilderness, prepared to freeze them solid if they did not have the proper tools to ward off the danger she could bring.

 

“How much for your pelts?”

 

The man sent Atem, who sat with a dangerous patience on the back of his horse, a wary glance before looking back to his fellow human, the shadow of worry carving deep creases into his face. “You can take all three of them for fifty silver if you’ll please just _go._ ”

 

Yusei forked over the amount and put the nearly empty pouch bag in the pocket of his bag, musing to himself how unfortunate it was that all of the money he had made the last couple days had all gone to this. Brushing aside that thought, he reminded himself he would have no need for Claw if they both died from frostbite, and that reasoning was enough to silence the miser within him.

 

The black gelding beside him was his choice, and once it was saddled, bridled, and calmed from its restlessness he mounted it with his furs and rode out with his elven counterpart with a set of circumspect eyes locked on their forms. They said not a word of farewell to him, nor he them.

 

Turning toward the thick of the forest, they both urged their horses into a fast trot. Only Atem glanced back at the town they were departing, the trees beginning to block nearly all sight of it once they had put ample distance between it and themselves.

 

Far ahead stood the looming and, with the amount of fog and distance, nearly invisible figures of the Blue Rock Mountains, their peaks stretched high into the grey sky and tips hidden away in the white of the heavens. The two must have stared at it for moments before either of them spoke.

 

“The closest city is through that mountain range,” Yusei muttered, though loud enough for Atem to easily hear.

 

The elf drew his furs tighter around his shoulders, the weariness of exhausting his magick supply finally taking its heavy toll on him in the absence of adrenaline to propel him forward. Even the effects of his tea wore off, and his hands yet again began to shake with weakness. He felt colder than he had ever been in this land, and the Prince hardly looked forward to the many days ahead when they would have to suffer freezing temperatures. Winter was nigh.

 

Yusei rode a little closer, handing the elf two of his new pelts.

 

“Then we’ll just have to trek through.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

That night, when the fog hung ever thicker upon them in the mountainous woods, the fire crackled loudly as their horses rested just feet away. It was the first time that they sat around the freshly-made pit of wood and Atem did not—could not—use his magick to make the sparks dance, to make the flames come alive with a mere snap of fingers. Yusei lit the wood the conventional way.

 

He took no pleasure in it.

 

For a short time, Atem used the fire’s light to read. Yusei tinkered. And when they lay down to rest that cold, bitter evening, they slept right beside the fire with their backs pressed together, their separate furs laid over them to stave off the frigid air.

 

With their married warmth, they did not shiver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Phases: refers to moon phases.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please comment and tell me your thoughts! Also please forgive me if there are typos; I'm very tired. OTL


	7. Blue Rock Mountains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy I'm sorry this chapter took so long. A lot of stuff came up in my personal life, and I also started full time school along with working full time, so it's been hectic! I'm going to do my best to make sure chapter 8 is timely.
> 
> Also, there may be typos in this, since I'm posting it at 4:30am while I'm exhausted, so if there are I'm truly sorry you have to read them! I will be sure to review this whole chapter within the next day!

The Sun loomed high and far in the eastern sky[1], like a dragon gazing down through the thin fog upon the peaks and valley beneath that it called home.

 

Two riders were below, ambling along on their horses. Birds chirped from the many trees around them, singing their vibrant, trilling songs in the misty daylight. The air was crisp, the patches of snow littered on the floor of the forest reflecting the muted light of the Sun back up on them.

 

They had been riding since sunrise, and by now, the growl of hunger churned in the both of their stomachs.

 

Yusei’s tanzanite gaze wandered to the form of his companion, combing over his appearance swaddled in furs. Atem experienced the cold much more severely now that his body was drained of energy, and despite the last several days of recovery on the path, of only having to expel his energy getting on and off his horse and directing it as they rode, he still shivered in the wake of the icy breeze. In their time together since escaping, the Prince had mentioned how he grew up in the desert sands, with the heat of the Sun beating down upon his dark shoulders as he roamed the outdoors. Naturally, he was the furthest thing from accustomed to this cold. And the higher in elevation they went, the harsher the climate, but it was unavoidable. To get to the city of Hemera quickly, they had to go through the mountains. Going around would take days longer, days neither of them wanted to spare.

 

Kincardine was a thought many leagues away now, but one Yusei still clung to with singeing regret. Going so far north again was the last thing he wanted, but he had avoided complaining, knowing exactly why Atem had chose to ride in this direction following their initial getaway from the village. No dogs could follow their trail through the incessant snows of the mountain, and in the north, guard security was lax, nothing like the tight defenses of Kincardine, the largest city in the continent. While it was true there were masses of people to hide amongst, there were also masses of people that could know his face. No doubt the guards that had failed to catch him would double down on their efforts to find him, likely sending words to other villages and cities for their assistance. However the chances of them sending word through the mountains was slim. Even if they were not swayed by instinct to turn back to warmer weathers, few tipplers[2] could survive passing through the mountains in the coming winter.

 

The way it seemed, north was the safest direction to go.

 

And that sat in the pit of Yusei’s stomach like a heavy boulder.

 

He decided to focus instead on the present; there was no use in agonizing over past impossibilities now.

 

Yusei’s gaze still lingered on the elf, momentarily studying the rubied jewelry that adorned Atem’s ears. It suited him well, the swordsman noted. Brought out the tints of crimson in his eyes.

 

Before, when he had reminded the elf that the metal could give him frostbite in the wake of the coming winter, Atem had responded with a thankful smile but a confident, _“They have already been blessed. Neither cold of ice nor heat of fire can be conducted to the skin through them.”_ The elven lands were full of magick, it seemed, where even life-threatening dangers to humans could be willed away by a single spell or enchantment. Yusei had pondered what it would be like to live there.

 

“Did you want to stop for a moment to eat?”

 

Atem gazed up at the sky and noted the position of the Sun—only a few hours left of sunlight, until the pines would block out the rays already dampened by fog—missing not the eyes that were on him. He let them be, finding consolation like the warmth of a flame at the attention. With the passing days as the those full faces overhead became less so, as they inched away from each other, from their optimal exposure in the Sun, he had noticed how Yusei mellowed, his voice becoming less cold, his eyes becoming less distant. The Prince knew it was all the Moons’ doing. How tragic it was that he was as the tides, without a say in the tumultuousness of his own heart no matter how his mind, body, and spirit may have wished to defy it. As he was released, or perhaps just given temporary mercy, from their vice grip, Atem could now see the humanity in Yusei’s eyes much more than he had ever remembered. Just like now, it was in those seemingly inconsequential gazes, those glances in passing, that he found a comfort unlike any he had ever experienced.

 

Something bloomed in the confines of his chest like a desert primrose, its fragrance a pleasant tingling along his nape and spine.

 

The Dramyrian’s grip on his reins tightened, pulling gradually to the right to guide his mount; Yusei followed. “A good a time as any, and we might as well water the horses.”

 

After following the sound of a trickling stream, they dismounted their geldings and dropped onto the forest floor with the soft crunch of greenery and patches of frost underfoot. Atem removed his gloves, genuflecting to a low kneel so he could dip his tanned hands into the water and drink from them. It was the first time the drink met his lips at such a frigid temperature; in the past, using only a hair of magick was enough to heat the water to a pleasant degree, and as it went down it would warm him from the inside. The bitter cold stung his hands without the protection of his sorcery, and the drink bit his throat and the inside of his mouth like a passionately cruel lover when he swallowed.

 

He drank his fill, and when he was finished he quickly shook his hands free of moisture and concealed them once again. The unpleasant expression on his face was missed not by Yusei, but the human said nothing of it, his pools of sapphire flickering down to his own gloves as he contemplated taking them off to do the same. Atem had already seen them—he had seen _absolutely everything_ —but still, he hesitated. He loathed having to lay sight on the hideousness of his own two hands—what they had become. And with every turning, he could bear to look at less of himself. He was sure this coming cycle would take the rest of the humanity from his arms and legs. From then on, only his torso would remain to be engulfed, and after that…

 

Yusei didn’t want to think about what would be stripped from him after that.

 

He found Atem’s gaze on him, a consoling warmth and empathy within those sugilite eyes as he sat upon a raised tree root. The elf said nothing—he needn’t have said anything—because the swordsman knew even without words what he was trying to communicate.

 

_Remove them. You don’t have to hide from me._

 

Yusei couldn’t understand how anyone else could bear to look at him when he was becoming a monster, but he shut the thought out of his mind to freeze in the cold like an unwelcome guest and stripped the hide from his forearms. He drank from the stream, hating the way the water clung to his pitch black fur and noisily dripped back into the creek from his elbows even after he had finished drinking. He squeezed the wetness from the pelage, shaking the droplets from his contemptible claws and wiping away the rest of the moisture with a cloth he kept in his bag. On went the gloves again as he could stand no more of the sight, despite the remaining dampness of his forearms.

 

Atem watched, but only briefly. He knew how much he detested others staring at him for his physical differences.

 

The human sat a couple paces away from his elven counterpart, handing him a portion of the mountain hare they cooked the day before. Even without the use of magick, Atem had proved to be an incredibly skilled hunter, using nothing but a knife and a sharpened stick to create a spear. Five moments of hidden waiting was it all it took the elf to execute a quick kill, and another seven for the second and third one. They had eaten enough to appease their hunger, saving the rest for a later time.

 

Even though it was no longer hot from the fire, the presence of food on their tongues was a welcome one.

 

Yusei watched with passive interest as Atem dug around in his bag for a moment, only to retrieve a small vial of clear liquid, with what looked like a slight pink tint. The permanent scowl of his brows eased a fraction in curiosity.

 

“Some sort of potion?”

 

“Faerie tears.”

 

Atem tipped his head back as he downed the seemingly inconsequential amount of liquid, and there was a pause before a grimace twisted the ends of the Prince’s lips downward and carved deep lines into his cheeks. He sated the unpleasant taste with the meat of the hare in his hand, the comforting gaminess permeating his mouth instead.

 

Yusei still looked questioning, as if he knew Atem knew he had no idea what the purpose of faerie tears even was. The Dramyrian heir finished chewing and swallowed to elaborate.

 

“Their tears are magick. They’ve been used in the past to help recovery after long battles and wars.”

 

“Is magick meant to taste that horrible?”

 

“They just have a tremendously sour aftertaste. Like newt limes.”

 

The vivid memory of the first time he had ever tasted a newt lime during his childhood swept over Yusei like a wave. The red fruits were no bigger than a single phalanx of his finger, the size of a coastal grape, but gods was only one like a whole mouthful of vinegar. He had been at most seven summers old, and when he saw that tiny bowl of them sitting next to much bigger portions of other fruits that were waiting to be prepared, he hadn’t asked himself why there was so few of them in comparison to the others, and his inquisitiveness had gotten the better of him. Oh, how Crow had fallen over laughing at the sight of him, with his little arms clutched to the souring muscles of his abdomen as Yusei struggled for water, tears collecting in his eyes from the sheer taste.

 

How in gods’ names Atem managed to tolerate the taste of something like that with nothing more than a small cringe was beyond him.

 

They sat and ate, and Yusei found himself suddenly reminiscing of the old days, of his childhood and teen years before his fated departure. So fond was he of those memories, and how much he hated thinking of them now when he knew he could never relive those times, even if he returned, even if he apologized, even if they forgave him.

 

But they wouldn’t. And he couldn’t. That was the way it had to be.

 

Atem saw the way Yusei’s countenance darkened, appearing far off. He debated speaking to it, wondering if he dared to ask more into Yusei’s life than the man volunteered. He palmed the empty little vial in his hand, stowing it away to clean and use for another purpose later.

 

“Unpleasant memories?”

 

Yusei felt the reflex of wanting to deny it immediately, but when his eyes shifted to meet Atem’s concerned gaze, he was stripped of the ability to lie to him. He instead said nothing, allowing his sapphire hues to comb over the peaceful forest around them, surveying absently as if for a proper response. He found none.

 

With a resigned sigh, he rose from his seat and gathered the horses, handing the appropriate reins to his companion. Those amethyst irises lingered, and for once Yusei couldn’t confirm that he wanted them to stop.

 

“Perhaps it’s a story for another time.”

 

In exchange for his worry, the swordsman offered the elf a hand to help him onto his horse, and the Prince was left to grasp the concealed set of claws, climbing onto the back of his gelding with sudden ease with the assistance of firm support. Despite his weakened state, Atem still found the ability to sit straight and proudly upon his mount, and Yusei looking up at him experienced a weakness in his own heart that he could neither understand nor lessen.

 

The elf looked like royalty, with his eyes high on their path through the mountains, and even in the muted light, his jewelry and armor under his furs sparkled. Yusei’s eyes followed the curve of Atem’s cheek to his jaw, and the emotional reaction within his own chest was one of completely visceral nature, evoking the small hiccup of his heartbeat that he had only ever felt in nervousness and bittersweet heartache.

 

The human’s hand still rested upon Atem’s leather saddle, but the Prince ever-so-gently patted the back of his glove to comfort the turmoil he saw in the man’s pools of sapphire.

 

“Let us go. The hours age.”

 

Yusei mounted his horse, allowing Atem to lead the way.

 

Night fell, just as it did at the end of every day. The Sun disappeared, giving its quiet farewells to the sky in the form of vibrant streaks of orange, pinks, purples, and blues, which were only half visible above the mists overhead. The stars, no longer smothered by the light of the Sun, were allowed to shine and twinkle when the fog was swept away by the mountain breeze. The Moons were not visible as a pair, as one reached the pinnacle opposite of their optimal positions, its invisible body having disappeared alongside the Sun for the night. The other hung with its face completely full, opposite the sky where the Sun and its sister had gone.

 

There were moonsbeams to guide their way, but as the two and their horses faced the worsening cold, they decided to retire for the night along the rock face of a mountain crag, where the wind’s chill was blocked from reaching them. They tied the horses and collected their firewood—Yusei allowed Atem to collect much more of the tinder as he tasked himself with lugging the heftier pieces of wood to their campsite—and before long the warmth of flame burned steadily in front of them.

 

The sight blended and linked the days together, the dance of flame and heat of fire like a siren’s song to the cold men and their geldings. The nights came and went, and the two spent the small hours of the night huddled together to maintain body temperature. The first morning Yusei had woken to find Atem’s arms wrapped around him, somewhere between the layer of fur swaddling him and the layers lain over them both, he had nearly jolted from the sudden realization. The elf was fast asleep, for he did not move even when Yusei’s face angled back to look at him. The mess of wine black and blonde locks met him, the Prince’s face buried somewhere in the furs against his shoulder. The night had been particularly cold; logically, the swordsman could fault him none for nestling so close, but that did nothing to soothe the racing of his own heart that he hoped to gods Atem couldn’t feel under his armor and all those furs.

 

The elf had woken when at last the Sun crept over the horizon, and when the miscreant had asked him how he slept with ulterior curiosity, Atem had responded with a somewhat content, _“Better than recent nights.”_

 

Yusei couldn’t understand the satisfaction he felt in hearing those words, so he wrestled it back as much as he could and shifted his attention to the grumbling of his own stomach.

 

They caught a handful of fish by a nearby stream, and though they were small, they were at least enough to stave the hunger they felt until night time, when they reconvened with yet another fire and shelter. The fae danced around them, having come out of the mountain woods at night to play. Atem knew them to be of mischievous nature, so when one of them snatched the cooked rabbit from Yusei’s gloved hands and flew away with it, he couldn’t help the laughter that erupted from his lips, only sustained by Yusei’s look of betrayal.

 

“You’d better look after your things, too,” the Prince noted as he offered one of his own helpings of rabbit to the human as a replacement, nodding towards the bag at the man’s side that he could already see a faerie lingering dangerously close to, which was then shooed gently away by the swordsman’s hand before he accepted the portion.

 

Atem heard the fluttering of their bird wings right alongside his ear, only to feel one of them land on his shoulder and touch its luminescent hands to his hair. The light tugs were not enough to hurt him, but the flap of its wings and the resulting gust of air along with the small feathers grazing his neck were enough to make him jerk with ticklishness. Two more landed in the fur of his opposite shoulder, and another in the locks atop his head. Little hands touched the shell of his ear, and he had to resist the physical desire to dispel them as Yusei had.

 

Their soft voices rose up to accompany the crackling of the fire as they exclaimed his name.

 

“Atem!”

 

“The elf is far from home—”

 

“—where is your father?”

 

For a moment, the Prince felt the prickling fear of his identity being exposed by their ceaseless chatter, but he remembered that positions of royalty meant nothing to sprites, only what the elves had done for their smaller, magickal friends. The Dramyr King had done nothing short of giving them protection in all of the corners of Dramyria that they resided in, the promise that so long as he remained King their forests and oases would not be cut down or repurposed. The elves to the north were similarly graceful with their siblings under the Sky Mother. Naturally, the families of those who had made this promise were known to the fae and other magickal spirits, though Atem wouldn’t have guessed that it would matter so far out here in the center of Klengard.

 

He remained corrected.

 

“They know you?”

 

Atem glanced over to find Yusei’s steady gaze already on him, and it sent a sudden torrent of heat over his nape. Casual interest lit the man’s eyes, but it was something that evoked the spines of fear within, despite how he knew Yusei suspected nothing of him and would press no further if Atem gave him the inclination that he didn’t want to speak of it.

 

But he _did_ want to speak of it. Gods, he wanted to speak of it more than anything else. The human had already shown him his most terrible secret, the most wicked of beasts that lay within him, and yet here Atem was, struggling again with so much as revealing his identity in a land that was inconsequential to this one, his status that meant absolutely nothing in their predicament now. It should have been easy— _Mire,_ it should have been _so easy_ , but it was nothing but the exact opposite.

 

Mahad’s serious countenance flashed before the mind’s eye of the Prince, and it was almost as if Atem had looked to the right where his father had been, he would find him there. _“You must tell no one,”_ the King had so solemnly warned, worry staining his older features as the other court mages stood by with similar expressions.

 

 _“If anyone were to know you are the Prince—no matter how much you trust them, no matter how loyal they are to you—that knowledge could harm you in ways beyond your imagination,”_ Mahad had added, and Isis stepped closer to join her companion at his side. _“You must be careful, Prince Atem. You are the only future of this country.”_

 

The memory of his own words stung him as it echoed, reverberating off of the walls of his mind and beyond into the darkness of subconsciousness.

 

_“I promise, I will tell not a soul.”_

 

How Atem could not stand those who broke their promises. He had already broken one to Mahad, and as a result he suffered one of the most devastating consequences known to elvenkind, though if he were given the chance to act differently that night, he would change nothing. It was just as Mahad had said: the price he had to pay, the suffering in the act, the guilt inflicted upon Yusei as a result—all of it was far beyond his imagination. Anticipating the horror of that night and everything leading up to it was something he could have never done, and he was neither so asinine nor myopic as to think there wouldn’t be a repeat if he strayed away from the wisdom of his court again.

 

But looking into Yusei’s pools of sapphire now, every instinct of honesty screamed at him to reveal who he was. Atem was not lying to him, but withholding such a significant truth was nearly just as deceptive.

 

“It seems they do. In my country, we have a rather working relationship with other magickals.”

 

Honor roared at him with the ferocity of a lion, thrashing just behind his ears in condemnation for restraining the truth.

 

Yusei seemed satisfied with the answer, appearing to acknowledge Atem’s discomfort but mistaking it as a reaction to the sprites that tugged on his tresses and touched his skin with their tiny hands.

 

“Your country sounds like it lives in much more harmony than this one.”

 

Atem would have responded, but the howl that filled the air cut him short, stopping the sprites’ shenanigans around the two with a deadly precision. In the seconds following the sound, none of them moved, except for the faeries that landed around the fire to stare off in the direction it had come. A second, deeper howl rose into the clear night sky, and the waxing half moons overhead stared down at them as if waiting for something to move.

 

It was then that a chorus of baying lifted as an offering to the Moons, and with a sudden motion the luminous fae took back to the tops of the trees where they rested, far from the reach of the predators approaching.

 

Atem visibly tensed. The sound of these wolves could hold no candle to the wretched yowl of the Mirewolf that lived within Yusei, but the fear had already been instilled in him, a primal reaction against which he could do nothing to fight the initial wave. Something moved in the darkness far beyond the light of the fire, a slight rustling in the grasses raising the hairs on the nape of the Prince’s neck. On the other side of them, the rustling continued. The horses shuffled their hooves, straining against their binds as they huffed, whickered, and stomped with uneasiness and fright.

 

The presences permeated through the forest around them, and the two sat for moments that felt like lifetimes. Listening. Watching. Waiting.

 

It was then that Atem saw only reflective eyes in the distance, catching the light of the fire between them as it stalked steadily closer.

 

Sugilite hues flickered to the swordsman, and it was obvious by the expression on his face that Yusei understood what was happening.

 

They were being surrounded. The horses were in a frenzy now, crying out with great whinnies and trying to run when they had absolutely nowhere to go with the ropes that kept them bound in place.

 

The man moved to a stand, unhurried and seemingly calm as he turned in a direction that Atem could see nothing, not until several long increments of silence passed and the silhouette of a taller wolf crept forward, alongside another several feet away. The Prince could understand not how he looked so relaxed, as if the pack of wolves were really just a couple passersby asking for directions. No, perhaps Yusei would look even more cautious if they had been humans. He didn’t even look like he had any intention of getting his greatsword at the ready.

 

Atem relied on his own judgment, standing and drawing his swords as gradually as he was able, giving his best effort not to make sudden movements in case it would act as the catalyst to a sudden fight to the death. The horses’ cries were unending and did nothing to soothe his nerves, one of them even rising to stand on its hind legs in an attempt to drive the wolves closest to it away by threatening its height.

 

The pack stalked closer, closer, closer still, until all of them were illuminated by the light of the fire. They were all a combination of tawny brown and black, though the two Yusei faced were one or the other. Behind Yusei, in the direction that Atem faced, one of them growled, baring its sharp pearly teeth in a threat that made Atem’s heart race with suspense.

 

“We can’t take them all on at once, Yusei.”

 

“Lower your weapons, Atem. We’re the ones trespassing on their land.”

 

The Prince’s expression contorted into one of surprise as he glanced back at his counterpart, not expecting words like that to leave a human’s mouth. Yusei’s gaze met his temporarily, nodding to the elven swords.

 

“It’s alright; you can put them away.”

 

More growling met their ears, and despite the fright that Yusei could easily see in the deepest pits of his wine eyes, the elf forced his hands to move, sliding both swords back into their sheaths with a sharp, metallic sound as smoothly as he had removed them.

 

The Prince thought he saw the man’s scowl lessen for just a moment, their gazes lingering longer than they should have in the face of danger before he turned forward to the two wolves that were so much closer than they had been when he had last observed their movements.

 

All of them were stopped now, creeping no closer and instead forming a haphazard circle around them. By Atem’s count, there were seven. Far too many to fight between just the two of them.

 

The night was silent, the crackling of the fire sending dancing shadows along the coats of the pack surrounding it. The Moons looked down from above, viewing her children amongst the twinkling stars and alongside the Sky Mother who was ever silent.

 

Atem swore he could slice the tension in the crisp, cold air with a knife if he tried. With seven sets of eyes on the both of them, he could barely breathe. Seven muzzles waiting to tear them both open at the slightest provocation. His heartbeat thrummed in his ears like a torrent of water.

 

The icy breeze picked up and collided with the Prince’s face, combing through his hair and tousling the blonde against his darker tresses. Yusei’s own bangs whipped softly against his face as the wind carried toward the wolves he had locked eyes with, and the one with onyx fur raised its muzzle to sniff the air, its black nostrils flaring as its companion did the same. Their amber eyes locked with Yusei’s long enough that any onlooker may have surmised they were speaking to one another without a single syllable having ever been uttered.

 

The hackles of the mahogany wolf eased, and with a slow glance to the others, it began to turn back towards the forest from whence they came. The black one veered off in a trot, several others following her as the night was filled with playful whimpers and whines of the offspring in the pack.

 

Atem watched, stunned as they went. He questioned whether he had actually been killed, and this was just some strange post-mortem dream he was having to cope with his demise. His gaze turned immediately to Yusei, struggling to process what he had missed that had been so crucial to the conflict’s dismissal.

 

“What did you _do?_ ”

 

The man’s attention remained on the direction they had all gone, until at last there was no sign of them left. The Prince couldn’t help but think that he had known from the very start there would be no danger.

 

“Nothing. They know we have no intention of staying here. We’re only passing through, so they left us be.”

 

Atem was no stranger to nonverbal communication with animals, but the predatory kind were usually harder to sway, especially without magick as an aid for communication. Perhaps it wasn’t unheard of for elves to convince their way out of conflicts with nature with purely physical communication, but for a human to pull that off with a full pack… that was unbelievable, even for wolves.

 

 _They must know,_ Atem mused. Animals were much smarter than humans ever gave them credit for; they had to know what Yusei was, what he could do in that other form. It made the Prince want to shudder even thinking of it, of those giant claws and razor teeth the size of his head.

 

He glanced up to the half-illuminated moons almost opposite of each other in the sky, painfully aware of how only another six days were to pass before he would be forced to meet it again. Since the last, he could think of no way to restrain Yusei so that he would not be a danger to either of them or their horses, and time to formulate a plan was quickly running out. Out here in the mountains, there would be no one to help.

 

The elf put it out of his mind, finally realizing how the night chill had permeated through his fingers and feet, though the backs of his legs so close to the fire still remained a somewhat comfortable temperature.

 

“You’re sure they won’t be coming back?”

 

“I can’t think of a reason they would.”

 

Atem urged the pounding of his heart to quiet. Yusei had more than earned his trust by now; it was time he more firmly reciprocated it with his actions. Never once had Yusei done anything to harm him; by now it was quite the opposite, always giving the Prince distance or otherwise removing himself from the situation whenever he knew he would be a harm to those around him. That last turning, he had isolated himself even when his emotions were so volatile, and Atem could imagine he had desperately wanted to seek comfort in that chaos.

 

How alone Yusei must have been all this time. And how shameful the Prince felt for ever harboring even a sliver of doubt against him.

 

Filled with guilt, Atem sunk to the forest floor, right alongside the pit of the fire as he pulled the furs from atop his bag around him. Reaching for the remaining cooked rabbit, he nibbled at its hot skin as Yusei too came to a sit beside him.

 

The Prince took a deep breath in, letting out at last the sigh containing the rest of the tension he had been holding in. Yusei saw the edge in his posture, but he commented not on it, knowing if he had been put in the elf’s position, he would have been just as uncertain.

 

As if to stop the man’s self-doubt before it happened, Atem offered a quiet, “I trust you.” It appeared to be spoken to the breeze, or perhaps the fire, but when his charoite eyes shifted to the human’s face, Yusei felt a sudden wave of inexplicable emotion sweep through his being, like a bolt of lightning had electrified the entire expanse of his body. The shock reverberated in his chest, and it suddenly felt too tight, as if he were short of breath, as if Atem had sat on his ribs and made it that much harder for him to draw air.

 

Gods, even the thought of that worsened the feeling. His heart raced.

 

By the time he had the sense to stop himself, it was already too late. His brows had pulled together in the sort of pleading expression one gave when woefully asking for the reason so much misfortune had befallen them, and that single word had already left his tongue; no matter how hard Yusei wished to take it back, he knew he couldn’t.

 

“ _Why?_ ”

 

Atem finished his rabbit, setting aside the small bones he had eaten around, and like it was the simplest thing with which he could have responded, he handed Yusei one of the larger furs and replied, “Because you deserve so much more faith than you ever put in yourself. I was wrong to doubt you… I’m sorry.”

 

Perhaps he was also apologizing in part for not being able to confess his identity, but in the end it all boiled down to one thing: the uncertainties like a rock wall between them. Atem fought against the desire to touch the man, to convey his feelings through a soft squeeze of hand, but thought better of it in the case that Yusei still found it unwelcome. He laid himself down on the grasses, huddling close to the fire so that its warmth permeated through the furs he had swaddled himself in and kept his back a pleasant temperature.

 

Their gazes met once again, and for a second Yusei wished they were not themselves, that none of the complications and trials set before them plagued them, that they were not out here in the cold but instead relaxing in a comfortable tavern somewhere with hot food and drink filling their bellies, that he could reach down and cup the elf’s cheek in the normal human hand that he had lost long ago and tilt those lips up to meet his own as he trapped that body between his and the softness of a cot beneath—

 

He nearly jolted out of his own skin as he realized what he was thinking, shaking it off like a wet dream that he had never once experienced while he was awake. He watched Atem’s eyes slide closed, and he nestled farther into his furs for warmth and comfort.

 

“Goodnight, Yusei.”

 

The swordsman let out a shaky breath, quiet enough about it that he imagined the male below him could not hear the way it trembled with anticipation. He looked out over the woods, quiet and seemingly peaceful. The sprites had not re-emerged from the treetops. When he was confident he had rid the quivering from his voice, he at last responded, unable to help how the words traveled so naturally across his tongue.

 

“Goodnight, Atem.”

 

He thought he saw the elf’s lips twitch upward in a faint, content smile, or perhaps it was the flickering of light from behind him that made the shadows deceive him. Nonetheless, he lay down flat on his back to face the stars overhead, gathering the furs Atem had given him just moments ago and pulling them over himself. He looked at the moons, contemplating their fullness before at last slumber whisked him away.

 

He wasn’t sure at what point he had even closed his eyes to rest them, but when he next woke he lay on his side with his body pressed to a familiar form, a head of wine black and blonde tresses so close to his face that a few of said locks tickled his cheek when he moved.

 

As he came to, he found that he too was buried underneath the furs that Atem used to sleep. They were lain over the both of them, as were the furs with which Yusei had fallen asleep. When he shifted, he realized his arms were wrapped entirely around the smaller male.

 

For the first time, he was hit not with the desire to let go and pull away, but to draw the elf in tighter to his chest and revel in the comfort of their shared warmth. His head bowed yet again, nestling so close that the tip of his nose grazed the crown of Atem’s hair. Finally, he allowed his eyes to close, and at last he slept with ease and coziness like never before out in the desolation of the wintry wilderness.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The Sun’s warmth came, and it wasn’t until its rays caressed their skin with the glow of morning that they woke. It was Atem who did so first, lured out of his comfortable rest by the bright orange that seeped through his eyelids and called him to continue their journey. His head rose from its lean on a mass of warm furs, only to realize when he had regained enough awareness of his surroundings that he had half-sprawled on top of the man he slept beside some time in the midst of his slumber.

 

Yusei was surprisingly still fast asleep, with his face leaned away from the direction of the rising Sun, and the Prince suddenly found that he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight, his gaze contemplating every angle and curve of the man’s face, the small part of his slightly-chapped lips. Without the burdens of consciousness, the human’s brows were unmarred by their near-constant scowl, and it occurred to Atem finally that it was the first time he had ever seen Yusei like that. An urge deep in his chest called out for his fingers to stroke the softness of his cheek, but the sudden biting memory of the last time he had almost done so—when the Were had been covered in his own blood and on the very verge of death—flooded his mind and filled his mouth with a souring bitter taste that he could not stand.

 

More aware now was he of the weakness of his stomach, where he had paid the full price of everything that happened that night. It had been quite a few days since the last time he had inspected it, but he had done so away from the eyes of the swordsman. That evening they had retired to a shallow cave they found, not too far off the path along which they traveled. The two of them had eaten very little that day, and in noting Atem’s apparent weakness Yusei had reassured he would be fine on his own to look for more firewood. The last lights of day faded, and the small fire lit before him kept him warm enough as he stripped off his furs and armor, pulling aside the tunic beneath to find the scarring that still looked nearly as horrid as it had before. Atem wasn’t able to view his back, but the last thing he intended to do was ask Yusei to look at it for him. He could tell it was already constantly at the back of the human’s mind, and the Prince wished to inflict no guilt upon the man that was within his control.

 

_This was my decision alone._

 

Yusei stirred from his rest, his eyes fluttering open as that crease in his brows returned, and when those half-asleep tanzanite hues met his own, Atem flushed with a sudden embarrassed heat that temporarily staved off even the chill of the morning air. His legs were still tangled with the man’s, and his gloved hand still rested on the furs somewhere above Yusei’s breastplate. Had they woken up in the same fashion before the eyes of anyone else, he was sure the mere companionship between them would have looked awfully suspect.

 

Atem attempted to pull back, only to realize there were a pair of arms wrapped around his waist that stopped him from darting away. He turned his heating face away instead, pretending to be awfully interested in the specks of dirt that clung to their shared furs. He hoped to the gods that Yusei hadn’t caught sight of the warmth that he was sure was glowing through his dark complexion.

 

His bag, conveniently placed in the same direction he had turned, saved him from appearing terribly awkward, and when at last the Klengardian realized his own limbs were hampering his elven counterpart’s ability to reach his belongings, Yusei relinquished his unintentional hold and sat up with a somewhat groaning stretch.

 

Atem spurned the uncomfortable silence that threatened to settle between them, and after he had found a bundle of leaves—really, it could have been anything at all, just _something_ to pretend his rummaging around in the bag had an actual purpose—he withdrew them with a faked show of triumph and a soft, _“ah!”_ By the time he turned back to his light-skinned companion, he had managed to wrestle back all of the embarrassment that visibly stained his face.

 

Yusei sat, still blinking the sleep from his eyes. The Prince hoped—perhaps even believed—the man hadn’t noticed.

 

“Tea?”

 

“We woke up a bit late. I figured it would help us on our way.” Horse shit, but Atem was a convincing-enough liar.

 

They hadn’t a kettle or pot, but the two stone cups that Atem carried with him, used often for other purposes, were good enough conductors of heat that the water poured from their waterskins—already warm from their proximity to their bodies—was heated to an appropriate temperature just by nestling them in the dying embers of the fire. The delicate tea steeped only for a moment, and with care Atem presented Yusei with his own cup. Their gloved hands grazed each other during the exchange, and the human had even so much as dared to steal a long glance at Atem’s visage, but the elf had been too focused on making sure it didn’t spill, and that the swordsman had a firm grip on the hot drinkware before he himself let go to notice.

 

The tea smelled of pomegranates and white lilies. It tasted even sweeter, and the aroma seemed to fill every inch of their mouths.

 

Quiet was the sound of Yusei’s spoken gratitude, but Atem heard it nonetheless, smiling into the curve of his cup, the joy even reaching his eyes and making shades of lilac glisten in his gaze. With the glow of the Sun on him, kissing every blonde lock, drawing the radiance from his smooth skin, making his chatoyant hues sparkle with a myriad of violets, Yusei thought for a moment that he had never seen the elf look so magnificent, or perhaps, he just never had the bravery to notice.

 

He wanted so badly to touch him.

 

But he did not.

 

The companions mounted their horses, riding forever deeper into the mountains. The breeze had finally stopped, but from the Heavens, snow began to drift slowly down, making the elf wrap the furs around him more snugly. He thought about how nice it would be if they were both able to retire once again to the warmth of a fire, to the warmth of Yusei’s arms.

 

He shook the thought away, scolding his own mind for the sudden bravery it had for such wanting ideas. It was only because of the harsh weather conditions that they did what they had to to survive the cold nights, nothing more—but as he tried to convince himself of this, a bubbling in his chest rejected the proposition.

 

Atem reasoned that out here in the wilderness with nothing else to focus on, it only made sense that the sudden fixation on the man beside him became that much more prevalent. He made an active attempt to snuff out those feelings, but nevertheless they remained, unreachable and burning within the depths of him like the Dragon’s Nest of the Mire.

 

It was only morning, he at last insisted. Another long day ahead of them was required before having anything of the sort, and with a kingly determination he banished those urges from the throne room of his mind.

 

They would soon return.

 

The path they followed eventually led to a rock face, one standing tall, wide, and impassable. Stopping dead in their tracks, they glanced at each other as their geldings nickered, irritated somewhat at having lost momentum. They had both drawn up their furs around their heads, shielding them from the snow that would melt directly into their hair otherwise. It was a quick way to freezing that neither of them wanted to anticipate.

 

“We’ll just have to find a way around.” Yusei glanced up, noting how the heights above pierced the alabaster skies as they continued to sprinkle flurries upon them. There was absolutely no climbing this, especially not with their horses.

 

The Prince guided his mount parallel with the wall, listening closely for the sound of airflow. It was faint, but he led deeper into the trees, dead branches cracking underhoof as Yusei followed wordlessly several paces behind, and the whistle grew louder, until the human could too recognize it as the sound of a tunnel.

 

When they happened upon it, they discovered the entrance was quite a bit shorter in height than anticipated, like a giant had happened to punch a crumbling hole in the mountain out of frustration and left it be. It was big enough to accommodate one of them walking alongside his horse at a time, but they would not be able to ride inside, or risk smacking their faces into the icicles forming just past the entrance. Atem was the first to dismount, collecting the reins of his horse into a single, shivering gloved hand and peering into the darkness that was the pass. Even with his eyes, the path was swallowed by darkness a mere third-stone throw’s distance away.

 

“I’ll go first,” the Prince announced, and when the found twinges of concern in the other man’s eyes he offered the beginnings of a wise smile. “The rock will not snare me if the path narrows.”

 

“A fair point,” Yusei conceded, and with a soft chuckle Atem watched the taller of the two grab the torch that he had made a week ago from its bindings beside his horse’s saddle, retrieving enough tinder from his bag to light a fire, and kneeling to the cold earth below with a flint. For the first time, the Prince saw the human reach into the inner side of his boot, between the fur insole and the thick hide of the exterior, to retrieve his knife, and Atem noted it with such a great satisfaction that he folded his arms over his chest and even filled the tunnel with a genuine laugh.

 

“So that’s where you keep it. I’m surprised you managed to keep it a secret for this long.”

 

Yusei was already busying himself with the sparks he kindled into the tinder, blowing softly into it until it at last caught fire. “I doubt this knife would stop you anyway if you intended to strike me down.” If Atem hadn’t known better, he would have said that a certain playfulness teased the edge of the man’s tone, but when he stood up to his full height and handed the elf the blazing torch, something of a grin indeed tugged at the edge of Yusei’s lips, and a heat pooled in the depths of his abdomen with a vehemence that _commanded_ his attention. His mind was the farthest thing away from pondering the deadly night that he would have surely been reminded of at any other time.

 

The Prince saved the dry swallow for after he had taken the light from him and turned away, regaining use of his voice at last as he responded with a giving, “ _Perhaps._ ”

 

Atem led farther into the tunnel, noting how the smaller stalactites that they passed began to grow in both number and size the deeper they went. The path reached a decline, and slowly they followed it, careful of the uneven footing and the occasional rocks that jutted out of the side of the passage. The horses became restless in the narrow space, but with the soft clicks of his tongue and a hand on the mane of his own, the Prince lured them back into a state of ease.

 

It never failed to impress Yusei how Atem could manage it so effortlessly.

 

At last the tapered space bloomed open, farther and farther with every step until finally they were exposed to cave glistening with moisture. Every sound echoed off of its high walls, and the dripping of water in several places around them rang back to them from all directions. With his sensitive sense of hearing, it nearly made the Prince dizzy, disorienting him more as he lowered the torch close enough to the rocky earth that he was able to see past its blinding light.

 

For several moments, he let his eyes adjust. It was then that he laid eyes upon it.

 

The truest glow of azure he had ever seen in his life.

 

The small gasp that left him went unnoticed as he tilted his head back at a steeper angle, marvelling at the glow of protruding crystals and the countless specks of light that littered the ceiling above. Deep greens and purples of fluorite and labradorite littered the space with accents of color as far as the cave stretched, pulling away from sight behind a jagged wall of shining stones. The pool of water adjacent to them only mirrored the spectacular show of illumination, the ripples created by the luminescent fish and serpents below causing parades of the crystals’ likenesses to dance and bob like the waves; even as a droplet of water struck Atem square on the cheek, he barely flinched.

 

The gods themselves must have designed this cave, he thought, so awestruck that he felt suspended in time, like what he was seeing was not just the cave around him but the very heart of the universe simultaneously with every corner of its outskirts. The stars collected in every glimmer, nebulas in every crystal, the planets in every stone.

 

“Yusei—”

 

When his gaze turned, he found the man gazing off to the right, entirely absorbed in their surroundings. The lapis glow on his skin was faint, but it brought out every shade and depth of his eyes of starlight, with such effectiveness in stealing the elf’s attention that for the breadth of an instant, he didn’t draw breath.

 

Yusei’s gaze turned to him after a trice that felt like a lifetime, and with an absolute certainty they felt something vice them together as violently as the Needle with its Fabric, gravitating them together and leaving their minds reeling at the proximity.

 

Yusei was the stardust the Prince was missing within his own being.

 

Atem could have done it. It would have been so painfully easy just to grab him by the furs of his shoulder and drag him down for a biting kiss, to crash his lips into the other’s that he _swore in that moment_ would receive him with a lasciviousness that mirrored his own. He could have tasted of the man’s tongue, reveled in the space of his mouth, their bodies entwining back into the singular being they had been countless millennia ago so explosively that the passion of their released cry would be enough to quake the very walls of this cave and reverberate into the mountain beyond for the rest of time.

 

They stood where they had been, both of them still. Yusei suppressed his carnal intake of breath and was the first to give away from the unexpected fervor of their connection. Atem was left to turn back to the path, the room in his trousers feeling much less than before.

 

He could have done it.

 

But he did not.

 

They followed the tunnel, much more quiet than they had been before. It was as if even the horses had been dissuaded by the tense silence between them.

 

The glowing passage ultimately led them through to the other side of the mountain, but when the freezing white light called an exit was in sight, Atem found with an unsettling dismay that he could hear the fierce howling of a storm at the end. It wasn’t until they got closer that he heard Yusei’s sigh of disappointment, at last coming to the same conclusion that they would not be able to leave for as long as those wintry winds raged on without.

 

The pair retreated back to the warmer air of the last cave room in the tunnel, and they settled into the rocks and tested the water in the pools—only to deem it was most likely unsafe to drink—before watering their horses from their own waterskins.

 

Yusei, looking over their supplies, was the first to break the endless sound of droplets hitting rock _somewhere_ in the cave—albeit a relaxing sound, Atem much preferred his companion’s voice, especially in the face of the strained feeling between them that he swore would snap if any more pressure were applied to it.

 

“We’ll only have enough wood for one fire, but it’ll only last us a handful of hours at most.” The amount that he had taken off of his horse’s back was already one that showed his prudence, and the elf wondered what he would have done out here without the man’s assistance. They even had enough food in his bag now to last them a couple days if they rationed well. He cast a glance into the water, where a few fish that glowed like the crystals above them swam; no doubt those were toxic.

 

“We should save it for when we need it most,” Atem mused, and Yusei gave a thoughtful nod as he too lay a pace away from the elf, drew out those golden pieces the Prince had seen him with since the beginning, and began tinkering.

 

They would be glad they saved the wood.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The storm did not let up for days on end, forever a distant whistling at the back of Atem’s attention, and the handful of times the swordsman got up to check, he returned every time with a displeasure visible on his lips that the Dramyrian did his best to erase. Night and day were impossible to distinguish from within the cave, and it would take a moment’s walk up the incline of the passageway to at last determine when they should have been sleeping, and when it was best to stay awake lest they throw their bodies’ sleeping rhythm off course.

 

It was too dark for even Atem’s eyes to comfortably read, so for these days he passed the time daydreaming of home, opening up with a great handful of stories from his childhood, but only ones where he could easily avoid his godsgiven status as the Dramyr Prince.

 

Yusei listened as he always did, probably as he always would, because he was never one for taking the spotlight unless he was so forced. He genuinely enjoyed the elf’s stories, showing his interest by asking the somewhat occasional question, clarifying details he did not understand.

 

The Prince told him of the caves in Dramyria, the myths, the meanings and shapes they saw in the constellations, what foods his people loved to eat, and even what pets they adored to keep. They talked for hours on end, only marked by the long silences between topics that had all but lost their discomfort. It seemed the intensity of the moment days prior had been forgotten, but the one remaining aspect of it was the way their gazes still caught on each other’s, tinged by something ever wanting and restless.

 

But that hadn’t stopped them from drawing near each other during the cold nights, and waking up tangled in the limbs of one another somehow became routine. By the last night, neither of them seemed to care enough anymore that not even an hour after they lay together upon the mass of fur-cushioned rock, they found their way into the comfort of a flush embrace while it was evident the both of them were still very much awake.

 

The nights were much better than the day, as after they both woke from their slumber and acknowledged it was day outside in the misery of the storm, they went back to giving each other space and avoiding touch where it was possible.

 

The final morning after they both woke, however, before either of them had found the desire to pull away just yet, for the first time Yusei spoke with his arms still encasing the elf in his warm hold. Atem felt the heat of his breath caress his neck, and it took all of the control within him to stop his body before it could spasm in a shiver.

 

“I turn again tonight.”

 

Those four words sapped all of the coziness right out of the Prince’s body, and it was the only time that he found no pleasure within his being despite being wrapped in Yusei’s embrace.

 

The heavy silence from several days ago returned, but it was dread that weighed against them instead. A beat passed when Atem did not answer, for he could not yet find the words to speak. There were ten thousand questions he wanted to ask, twenty thousand concerns he wanted to voice, but all of them eluded him as he stared into the mass of black hair accented only by locks of gold, all of which took up a majority of his vision.

 

He willed the words to come. All he could manage was an uncharacteristically soft, “What can I do?”

 

One cycle ago, he had driven Yusei running in the opposite direction, pushing him unintentionally away with how comfortable he was in ways Yusei was not. Atem leaned back just enough that his eyes could meet with cobalt, and _gods,_ he was close enough that it would have been _so_ easy to kiss the man.

 

But he did not.

 

He would not make the same mistake two moons in a row.

 

The endless _drip, drip, drip_ in the distance colored their silence, and it was Yusei’s turn to be at a loss for words. Even _he_ did not know, and it had been constantly on his mind since they escaped the village.

 

Atem would not survive another turning if they were in the same place. Yusei would have to distance himself far away from here, and there was nothing the elf could do to help him with that.

 

“I’ll leave from here. You stay here in the cave, where it’s safe.”

 

Atem’s expression darkened, and suddenly his ametrine eyes reflected only half the light they normally did. “You’ll die out there in the blizzard.”

 

“The coat that belongs to that form can withstand any cold.” He chose his words carefully, for _gods,_ he so much **detested** to say that the Mirewolf’s body belonged to him; and Atem was keen to the distinction.

 

“What if you turn back before it ends and your body freezes?”

 

“That isn’t how the curse works.”

 

“Then how _does_ it work?”

 

As firm as that question had been, Atem’s voice had no bite. It was so far lacking in confidence in fact that it shook the human to his very core, it having been weeks since the last time the elf had seemed so terribly weak.

 

The cave was dark, but even its lack of light could not hide the slight glimmer of Atem’s eyes, and Yusei swore that he was seeing things, for never once had he seen the Dramyrian cry, not even as he woke to find all of his magickal powers completely stripped from him. Surely this could never be the cause of those emotions, not him, not his godsforsaken _fucking curse_ —

 

But the tears that rolled over the bridge of the elf’s nose proved him wrong, so wrong that the swordsman was left stunned in its wake. He stared forward at that face which he knew in the depths of him he could only call beautiful—as loath as he was to ever admit it, even to himself—as it distorted into one of pain, carving deep grooves into his forehead in the scowl that marred his ordinarily smooth features. It looked as though he was holding back so many thoughts, restraining them from ever reaching his mouth as if voicing them would only push Yusei away.

 

By the time his gloved hand had moved of its own instinctive accord to Atem’s shoulder as a means of both comfort and question, Yusei could do nothing to stop it, nor did he have the heart to pull it away. But the elf closed his eyes, more tears rolling over the bridge of his nose and vertically over his cheek, the furrow of his brows only deepening painfully as he forced himself to break visual contact.

 

“Atem—”

 

“Please don’t go out alone. Don’t isolate yourself any more than you have, Yusei.”

 

As soft as his deep voice was, it rang forevermore out along the walls of the cave, bringing solemnity to the glow of every crystal around them. Suddenly, the beauty in the scene was not of marvel, but of sorrow. The azure of every inch was tainted by the tears of the elf, and Yusei struggled with the emotion that pierced him as if Atem had run the center of his chest through, then and there, with a blade.

 

Atem’s tears hurt him far worse than his swords had.

 

“What would you have me do?”

 

Watery amethysts were revealed to him once more, but there was an unexpected fire in them that abruptly snuffed out all of the doubts that he still harbored.  “Stay here, and turn. I will not let harm come to either of us.”

 

Quiet filled the cave as the _drip, drip, drip_ came back into focus, blending with the echoes of the elven prince’s promise. It was as though the stillness of the cavern carried that vow with it deep into its waters, to be protected and upheld within the strength of the peak’s base for all of eternity, because it resonated so deeply within Yusei’s chest that even his heart faltered at the sound.

 

“How can you hope to stop it?” the swordsman merely whispered, and he was not aware of the way his grip tightened on Atem’s back, but the elf felt it; he saw the despair in those pools of tanzanite. “It— _I_ —nearly killed you the last time.”

 

A gloved hand slid across the fabric covering the man’s tricep, and even in the dark, the elf thought he saw him ease, even if it were just a fraction.

 

“The last time, there was no chance for preparation. We won’t be so unfortunate today.”

 

It was the first time Atem saw him so exposed, his eyes reflecting such a sense of vulnerability that the elf could not bear to tear his gaze away, not even if he had wished to do so. The desire for closeness, _for intimacy,_ bubbled up from his chest, rising to his throat and into his lips, but the Dramyrian Prince appeased it with the mindless and slow reach for Yusei’s face, steady enough that the human was given more than enough time to stop him if needed be.

 

But he didn’t, and Atem’s gloved fingers grazed his cheek, ever hesitant as they traced up the marred and jagged edges of the man’s scar. The elf contemplated every drawn-out inch, mapping its familiar path until at last his palm smoothed over his cheek entirely in a gentle cup. He swore to the gods that he was seeing things even as Yusei leaned just a hair into his touch, those dark lashes meeting too with his cheeks when his eyes relaxed into a close.

 

Atem drew nearer, eliminating the space between them betwixt the furs that blanketed them, and their foreheads touched with the most serene of intentions.

 

“As I trust in you, put your faith in me when the moons shine.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Deep in the night, it was silent. After the horses had been tied; after Yusei’s armor and clothes had been removed entirely from his person; after the revolting sound of bones snapping out of place to form an entirely different and monstrous body; after the wretched screaming had morphed into earsplitting howls that shook the cavern with such force that countless rocks were displaced from their walls and rained chaotically down onto the floors of the grotto.

 

Even in the savage beast’s frenzy, destroying all things in its path and tearing down whole columns of rock like they had simply been made of soft lard; even when the Mirewolf snarled and snapped its jaws at him, its mouth of jagged knives exposed and seething steam and viscous saliva; even when it ran at him with a bloodlust matched only by that horrendous night twenty-five whole days ago; Atem felt no fear.

 

It was deep into the night that at last the furs had been tossed aside to yield the warmth of the beast, the one who writhed and howled and cried at the Moons it could not see with such a comparatively muted vitriol that the horses could be heard in the next cavern over with their unrest. Many long hours later in the small of the night, those wails once again became human as the murderous snapping of bones returned, and the giant claws that carved such deep grooves in the stone below them returned to their smaller appearances.

 

The human male lay trembling, freezing on the ground by the fire his companion had made using their last and only supply of firewood, covered in both cold and hot sweat and collapsed under the exhaustion of the transformation he had yet again endured. Just as the man had thought, this turning had indeed stripped the rest of the humanity from his arms and legs, leaving only his shoulders and mere inches left of each thigh for the next. His bare chest heaving in an attempt to cope with the lingering pain of his body deforming out and back into its own shape, he hadn’t even the strength to crawl or open his eyes, but he didn’t need to, because dark-skinned hands drew him into his own lap and swaddled him with all of the furs that they had.

 

Those same fingers combed through his hair, soothing the needles on his neck and suffering within him, offering him all the water he could drink and even the elf’s own last portion of food, which the man was too sick to his stomach to accept. A vial of something tasteless was slipped between his lips without argument, and only moments after the liquid had slipped down his throat he felt the numbing of every blazing nerve in his body.

 

After another hour of whispers that calmed the rapid pounding of his heart, Yusei was able to fall into a slumber that his body and mind desperately needed.

 

Ever-so-carefully, Atem slipped between the furs with the man he held so dearly close, his heart overcome with a dreadful ache for all of the times the human had had to experience that same miserable nightmare all alone, and joined him in rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 loomed far in the eastern sky: the planet's rotation in this world is opposite of Earth's, so the Sun rises in the west and sets in the east.  
> 2 Tipplers: messenger birds most commonly used for carrying news to neighboring cities, though there are many individuals who keep them to send private letters.
> 
> How many licks does it take to get to the tootsie roll center of a tootsie pop?
> 
> What the fuck did Atem do to stop transformed Yusei from killing him??
> 
> The world may never know. Just kidding stay tuned for the answers :))))))


	8. Sirens' Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this chapter took so long! These past three months have been really complicated and busy so I apologize for the delay. At least this chapter is 18k right? 
> 
> Also, SMUT CHAPTER SMUT CHAPTER!
> 
> Please enjoy!

Far above the peaks of the Blue Rock Mountains, the Moons stared down at the desolate landscape with her wide, silken eyes. She saw not the man cursed a slave to her phases against both her will and his own, but she felt a stillness in the silence that was unlike anything she had experienced for many cycles where it concerned him.

 

She was not as empathetic as her older sister to those with whom she had no relation, and surely he was not of her, but because of their forced bond, she felt ever more connected to him like a mother to her child, and she looked upon her lover whom she had been separated from millennia ago as if she were dying to touch both Vamora and the child who was _almost_ theirs. Dying to see that adoptive son emerge from one of Vamora’s beautiful and treacherous mountain ranges.

 

But alas, the Goddesses could never die, no matter how much agony they suffered.

 

The pain that had sunk deep into the heart of her bodies was one that permeated through the surface, turning her faces blue—nearly as blue as the cave Yusei currently lay within—with sorrow and uneasiness. All of the humans who looked up and saw her faces that night would exclaim how beautiful she was, but all of her Wildekin children knew with a sinking feeling that she was distraught, crying for one of her own.

 

She remembered back when Yusei was merely a toddler, when he would stare endlessly up at her elder sister’s expansive, glimmering nights, at all of the stars the Sky Mother encompassed. Those evenings, the Sky Mother often amused herself with entertaining the boy, sending gorgeous waves of color across her canvas body and letting them dance in magnificent chartreuses, magentas, and azures. Sometimes she would add in shooting stars, and on other nights she would reserve the spectacle solely for the latter.

 

Only once, when Yusei stood with six summers[1], the Sky Mother broke her most beautiful cerulean bolide against her sky and let the tremulous light rain down upon him in the fields, her magick giving life to the stardust and letting it form in the shape of a newly-hatched dragonling. As the hatchling flew across the sky above him, she grew in size whilst she collected stardust, until at last she landed as a mighty dragon, shaking the earth when her massive hind claws touched down. Her tattered wings outstretched as far as he could see, and he hesitated before allowing himself to touch her on the top of the head as she knelt forward to greet him. Her smooth scales were cool, yet hot as the bolide from which she was born. It was the strangest and most breathtaking thing Yusei had ever experienced, and the vivid memory would never fade even as he grew.

 

How he had looked up with such marvel in those young, sapphire eyes, and as he stared up at the Sky, the Moons shone down on him, her eyes bright with fancy. It was then that the Moons had fallen in love with his gorgeous sense of wonder. Even as he aged into teenhood, even as he became more serious with every passing season, when he looked up at the Moons and the Sky Mother, he always did so with an expression of amazement.

 

Since he had been cursed, and since the first turning, Yusei seemed to avoid them altogether, though she was sure it was only her that he didn’t want to see.

 

She would never forget the night shortly thereafter when a hundred leagues already separated him from all of the people he loved, all of the people he called his family, when he slept out under the stars upon the grasses he used to dearly love roaming. The Sky Mother so missed his gaze and awe that she put on another show of auroras for him, but even as the sight caught his attention, he did not smile as he usually did.

 

Only tears fell from his eyes, and he turned to his side to weep in isolation.

 

How the Sky Mother wailed that night, her own tears a shower of meteors high above the atmosphere. So shaken was the Sun by her lover’s broken heart that she woke Yusei with her warm rays the next morning and dried the droplets on his cheeks with her heat.

 

Yusei belonged to none of the three, but with the darkening of his bright heart, they all felt the loss almost as if he were theirs. Ever since his birth to his human parents, they had all known he was destined for greatness, but now they began to question if that greatness were to turn into something greatly terrible.

 

Vamora was his godly mother, and even despite her vows to house all of the Goddesses’ children fairly upon her body, to cause no harm to any of them in bias for her own, she still allowed her dolor to shake her plates, sending birds into the sky and leveling poorly-built homes. Her volcanoes rumbled with irritation, lava boiling violently and sending fumes into the sky that would darken them for days. Yusei saw none of it, save for the earthquakes, but he would have never imagined any of it was because of him.

 

In his eyes, he was alone, seen by no one.

 

When Yusei at last became a murderer, all four of them became silent. They watched, worried. Waited, as if with bated breath. The boy that had once dreamt of being a hero to those he loved was turning into a villain, being slowly destroyed by powers he could not resist, a curse of which he could do nothing to rid himself.

 

All because he was condemned to be a slave to the Moons’ cycles.

 

Yusei did not want to be this way, but he wasn’t given a choice.

 

Vamora’s sorrow had come to a slow lull, however. Now as she felt her son’s peace for the first turning since the tragic beginning, her volcanoes bubbled less, a deep, consoled hum resonating through her earth as if she had been relieved of a constant thorn in her side. She looked up to her lover’s full faces and the Moons was assuaged too, worry seeping out of her sallow blue tint.

 

 _He is at ease now._ _If but for a time._

 

The lovers soughed, growing still. The Sky Mother told the Sun of their sisters’ apparent reprieve, and they too found comfort in the sound of Yusei’s slow draw of breath, made to echo through Vamora’s caverns and grasslands, only to be heard by the Goddesses. Twinges of happiness sparked along their bodies, in the shooting stars of the Sky Mother and solar flares of the Sun. In the constellations, even the Guardian, Stardust, groaned, hearing of Yusei’s rest in the arms that may not have been her own, but ones that loved him nearly as much.

 

 _This is our Atem’s doing,_ the Sun and Sky Mother sighed.

 

And both pride and hopefulness filled them.

 

Perhaps the Prince could indeed help that grown boy whose eyes once sparkled with wonder, whose fate was all but sealed.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Azure shimmered endlessly in the darkness of the cave. Two males lay on its rocky floors, swaddled in both the softness and warmth of furs, drawing slow breaths in the safety of each other’s hold.

 

Just one of them was awake.

 

The pain had long since faded from his body, granting him relief of the wail of every nerve, muscle, and bone like the screaming of a banshee from her miserable confines. Yusei remained unmoving, relishing in the comfort of Atem’s embrace despite the hard elven metal that kept their bodies separate.

 

Yusei was still barren, his clothing folded neatly beside his own armor and the rest of his belongings just a mere several paces away, but he had no desire to get up and disturb the elf from his slumber. In fact, he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to move from this spot. Not when the memories of last night were still fresh in his mind, of how Atem had so fearlessly cared for him despite the tremendous risk to himself. Yusei recalled how the elf’s hands had so delicately soothed the insufferable pain that wracked his entire being and made the ability to think clearly just a dubious fantasy. How lovely that touch was, kind to him in a way so familiar, and yet still impossibly foreign.

 

His sapphire gaze flickered to Atem’s bag, remembering how that cool vial of liquid poured down his tongue had completely paralyzed all of his excruciation within only seconds of swallowing it. Yusei wondered just how many medicines Atem kept with him, how many cures and salves the elf had prepared himself with before journeying through Klengard.

 

Salt still littered the ground, having been bestrewn in precise lines and circles, but now completely scattered after the Beast of the Mire had thrashed wildly through it. Yusei barely remembered now what incantation had been cast, the memories blurring with the sheer chaos of the Mirewolf’s mind infiltrating his own, painting over his ability to recall fine details with the scarlet of bloodlust and madness. It was this way every time he turned, and ripped from him was his sense of self, replaced only by turmoil and death.

 

But this time, something was different. This time, there was but one memory of perfect clarity, burned so deeply into his mind that he could never even hope to forget it.

 

The fiery crimson of Atem’s eyes, commanding all before him to be bent by his own will.

 

The elf slept soundly now, his features relaxed and soft in the muted glow of lapis that touched them both, appearing nothing at all like that image of him branded into Yusei’s head. The swordsman could feel the gentle breath of Atem’s exhales against his cheek, and Heavens above, how he wanted to embrace him tightly, how he wanted to repay everything Atem had done for him last night and in every instance prior through both words and actions.

 

He reached slowly to tangle his hand into the elf’s hair, forgetting for just a moment who he was, forgetting that he was the monster that had gotten them both there in the first place. When the repulsive sight of black claws instead of a tanned human hand met with his vision, the realization struck him like an enraged snake, sinking its cruel teeth into the center of his chest where his trembling heart lay.

 

Yusei drew his arm back, having not the heart to touch the person who had saved him numerous times now with such a wretched thing as his bare, cursed fingers.

 

The Prince awoke shortly thereafter, his amethyst hues filled with a drowsiness that drew his companion in like a moth to flame. The elf sucked in a breath and Yusei could feel the slight shake of his form as he stretched, yet another night of sleeping in armor doing nothing kind to the body, even if it was padded with leather within to prevent frostbite and burns. Atem’s gaze met with Yusei’s, and Yusei watched as the memories of the night before came bleeding back into his eyes, chasing away the innocent unawareness of being freshly woken.

 

“How are you feeling?”

 

A thousand responses came flooding into the swordsman’s mind; he could have told Atem just how glad he was that they had both survived the night, or perhaps the fear within him that this wasn’t real, that perhaps it was all a dream that would quickly turn into a heartbreaking nightmare upon waking and seeing that he had in fact killed his dearest partner.

 

Yusei could have answered with any number of them, but he decided on the most earnest, the hardness in his gaze softening to allow glimmers of vulnerability in the dimness of the cave.

 

“Much better than I would have been, had you not been with me.”

 

Atem’s eyes caught on his, and it was suddenly palpable how the walls that had remained between them all along were beginning to crack and crumble, coming slowly undone into nothing more than rubble at their feet over which they could effortlessly step.

 

As much as the cynicism within cried out for him to continually push the elf away, he could not fathom it now, even while understanding why it had previously been so necessary. He would never forgive himself if he involved Atem in his own problems, but the elf had pursued of his own accord, and the circumstances had trapped Yusei in a position where he could not shake him. Atem had been unrelenting, proving his trustworthiness time and time again in ways that any normal person would have fled from, but as Yusei had come to realize, Atem was absolutely nothing like other people.

 

He even stood bravely before the Mirewolf for the second time, touched not once by its terrible claws or seething maw, no matter how much it had thrashed in vehemence and snarled its steaming breath in his face. He had allowed no harm to come to either of them, exactly as he had promised. It instilled a hope within the swordsman, one that bubbled in his chest as hot and unyielding as molten earth, that perhaps, with Atem’s help, he would never hurt anyone ever again in that vile form.

 

In the beginning, Yusei had had no reason to trust him.

 

Now, he had absolutely no reason _not_ to trust him.

 

For everything he had done, Yusei owed him all of his faith, seven times over.

 

He watched as his partner’s eyes lit with tenderness, the worry in the elf’s gaze becoming less as those charoite hues trailed down to the swordsman’s neck, and then to his shoulder, still shielded from the cold by furs. There was a yearning to investigate, and Yusei bit back the initial fear he felt, the discomfort, of the possibility of being exposed again. The magickal had already unquestionably seen everything, not just once, but twice now; Atem had taken care of him when he was too weak and crippled with pain to so much as sit, but he had been soothed the entire night, the touch impossibly welcome as it eased the bristling of his nape and the nerves that screamed for an end to the burning torture.

 

The elf had more than earned the privilege to touch him, and so he shrugged the furs away from his shoulder and gazed back at his companion with an air of submission.

 

Atem’s hand hesitated, and he glanced once more to Yusei’s face for the permission he was seeking, only to be met by a gentle nod. It was then that the Prince allowed his gloved fingers to ever-so-gingerly touch where human skin blended into pelage, contemplating how unfamiliar these borders were. He had now become the only other person to ever bear witness to Yusei’s descent into becoming a monster, as never before had the swordsman allowed anyone to lay sight on the eyesore, never mind stay long enough that they would see it progress.

 

And the man had spoken no lie. The Moons had showed her full faces again and following his transformation back into himself, more of his human body had been ripped from him, no matter how fiercely he had clung to it. Before, the border had remained at his forearms. Now, those forearms were completely consumed with the blackness of fur. His gloves alone would no longer be able to hide the full sight of his cursed arms.

 

Atem was overcome by morbid curiosity, allowing his fingers to trail slowly down the man’s bicep, his thumb unintentionally grazing the firmness of the entirely human pectoral beside it. What an unsavory sight it was, fur and human skin side-by-side in a vile contrast, enveloping the same body.

 

The Prince allowed his hand to sweep lower, his gaze flickering up once again to meet Yusei’s to gauge his thoughts. Fear still burned in the back of his mind, one that made him hesitant, for the few times the Were had snapped so violently at him and the subsequent fright that filled him had been ingrained painfully deep within his being, serving as more than enough of an incentive to steer him clear of everything that could elicit the response.

 

Perhaps he was still a fool.

 

Atem tried to stop the adrenaline that he felt set to course through his veins, but it was to no avail, his heart already beginning to hammer against his chest. He felt like a human being playing with fire amid a barn full of dry hay—only one mistake and the whole damned stable would go up in flames.

 

But the gleam in Yusei’s sapphire eyes spoke of his docility, for once surrendered completely to Atem’s will. His gaze reflected trust, something he had not felt in many winters, and would have continued not feeling had the elf not met him in that tavern many weeks ago.

 

Even still, the Prince hesitated as his gloved hand delved into the furs that kept them warm and met with the wrist of his partner that was wrapped around his body. Yusei would not touch him with his contemptible claws, so they remained without a pelt of his form, and upon the realization that the human would not so much as touch even his armor, the elf was struck with a searing pain from within his chest akin to being run through with a hot iron.

 

“What are you shielding me from?” Atem pulled lightly on Yusei’s wrist, and when he gave no resistance, he brought the man’s hand into the exposed air between them. Never before had the Prince seen it this close, those sharp nails that faded to black, the humanoid fingers covered in black pelage, the way they twitched in nervousness as he held them.

 

Their gazes met again, and Yusei could find no answer for him, yet still wanting so badly to pull his arm away. There was no reason that the elf should have been forced to view the abomination he called his body.

 

“How can you stand to look at me? You already know I’m a _monster_.”

 

Atem tenderly turned over the set of claws to examine them, and after he was satisfied he allowed his own hand to stretch slowly over Yusei’s palm, fingers aligning. Yusei’s hand was only a little bigger than his own, the tips of black fingers crowning over his. The elf smiled, shocking his counterpart as if he had been electrocuted, and the Prince allowed the symbolism to speak for itself before he too chimed in.

 

“You’re wrong, Yusei. You’ve been made to believe that these hands, your body, make you less mortal than you were when you were born. In reality, your heart will only change if you allow it.” The elven hand pressed firmer against Yusei’s, as if insisting on his words. “When I look at you, I still see a human being, just as I did on that first night that I met you, when you saved my life—and so long as I live I will never be able to forget what you have done for me. The last thing you are is a monster.”

 

Heat gathered at Yusei’s eyes, forming a lump in his throat that made it difficult to so much as breathe. Before he could catch up with his body’s response, his vision was already beginning to blur, painting Atem’s face in dark, hazy edges with a faint wash of azure.

 

When he felt the first sob rip quietly from his lips, the elf’s hands closed over his own, holding them so firmly that for once Yusei experienced the enlivening taste of stability he had lost long ago when he had been cursed. The pent up suffering he had held within, locked behind stone walls and fortified castle doors, had been smashed open by the battering ram of Atem’s heartfelt intentions, and no longer could Yusei remember why he had so vehemently distrusted him. It seemed without rhyme or reason now, with the way Atem slowly, hesitantly, carefully drew Yusei’s head into a cradle beside his own. The warmth of his hands seeped ever through his gloves to meet with Yusei’s feverish skin, calming the roar of distress that lashed at him within his flesh and made the hair on his nape stand on end.

 

Yusei could say nothing, do nothing, as he allowed himself to be comforted, the hot tears on his cheeks disappearing into the wines and ebonies of Atem’s tresses. The Prince felt his companion’s nose and lips graze his neck, and _gods,_ how that made Atem cling all the more to him.

 

His father had done the same for him when he was a boy, when he had learned of the way his mother perished, when he had finally been taught to understand Death. How the agony had been quieted with a hand in his hair and another on his back, the firmness of the King’s grip a cornerstone when the child had no foundation upon which to hold himself.

 

To play that role for Yusei now was something of which he had never even dreamed.

 

The swordsman’s trembling voice met his ear, and his words made the elf’s heart swell with an ache that he swore could have sucked the life out of his ribs and made them crumble under his own weight.  

 

“I don’t deserve this.”

 

“All this time, you have been alone… What you deserve is someone that will help you when you cannot yourself.”

 

“The last thing I need is another person to drag into the mess I made.” Yusei sucked in a quiet, shuddering breath, but when the elf drew back just enough to gaze into his eyes, he found them bloodshot in the low light, a harsh contrast between his reddened sclera and the flawless sapphire of his irises.

 

How mighty was the urge to press his lips to Yusei’s eyelids and kiss away the moisture, to trail his lips lower to that downturned mouth and kiss it until it could no longer frown.

 

It shook Atem so thoroughly to his core that he forsook his gloves, hesitating for enough time to allow his partner to stop him before allowing his thumbs to trail over the pathways of the man’s tears, wiping the moisture away from the soft skin. A hand remained cradled on Yusei’s cheek, the other dipping between them to the claws the man had drawn away, clutching them softly to his own chest with his fingers wrapped tightly around the soft fur.

 

“You have no idea what you are worthy of, Yusei.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

At last the howling at the end of the tunnel ceased, and Atem had worn something of a smile when he returned from wandering halfway up the passage and left his sharp ears to take care of the rest. Yusei had risen from the furs, still barren and exhausted from the prior night’s turning, as his gaze caught on the look of triumph that Atem wore. It was then that he knew they were free.

 

With it, came Atem’s offer to help him dress. Yusei’s frustrated attempt at getting his shirt to sit comfortably around his shoulders and forearms with the new pelage in the way was one that was hard for the Prince to watch, so his deft hands were quick to smooth the hair with the grain beneath the fabric. Yusei appeared almost as an indignant child, allowing himself to be tugged gently as Atem fastened the back of his armor to the breastplate. Yusei managed the pauldrons on his own, muttering a soft thank-you before he dressed into the rest.

 

The storm had cleared, leaving only calmer flurries of snow in its wake, and the pair ultimately emerged from the deep of the mountain, taking nothing with them but their horses and a newfound sense of trust in each other. That, and Atem had also stowed a small cluster of glowing quartz which had been felled by the Mirewolf’s rampage the night prior.

 

They said little as they rode alongside each other, but neither of them could find much reason to speak, for the communication through short glances was more than enough. There was a feeling of unspoken intimacy between them now; in the way their eyes met, they both knew it connected them.

 

“It’ll only take a couple days at this point,” Yusei mused, one of the few times he broke the silence since they left the azure caves. By this point, they were already descending the mountain range, the tallest peaks behind them and only a small handful surrounding them and yet to pass.

 

“Have you been to Hemera before?”

 

The swordsman was silent as their horses ambled along, and for a moment Atem thought he might not answer—that perhaps he had asked too much of the man’s past—before he did, his voice hushed as if he were speaking of forbidden knowledge.

 

“I used to spend quite a lot of time in that city. We never remained in any one place for very long, but Hemera was a common stop over the years. When I was older, I was able to explore it on my own. It sits right on the bay, so a lot of fishers and boats travel through there.”

 

The elf’s charoite gaze lingered, and at last Yusei’s hard eyes set ahead softened when they shifted to his companion. Atem wanted to show restraint, to not ask too many questions and prod too deeply just after the man had grown to trust him more, but curiosity bled nevertheless through his features. Yusei couldn’t help but notice the questions swimming in his countenance, and he allowed it with a single, submissive nod, turning his eyes back forward to watch the wild route they followed.

 

“You traveled with your family?”

 

The swordsman’s mouth twitched downward. “ … I guess you could have called them that.”

 

Atem wished to press more, but he paused and decided on a simpler question. “Did you have any siblings?”

 

“Not by blood. But there were people I called my brothers and sisters.”

 

The Prince grew pensive, letting his eyes linger for a moment on Yusei’s cryptic expression before he turned them to the sky. White still blanketed as far as he could see. He pondered who had been fortunate enough to call the man family and where they were in the known world now, before he was brought to the unsettling possibility that some of them might not still have been alive. He pondered now who those two people killed in Shattersword Bay were, and a miserable silence would have come over him had Yusei not broken it with a question of his own.

 

“What about you—do you have any?”

 

It was Atem’s turn for wistfulness to touch his expression, and he glanced down to the reins in his gloved hands as he palmed the leather. He smiled, but it was tainted by sorrow, something that quickly brought a crease between Yusei’s brows, wishing he could withdraw his query. “No. I heard only once that my parents had planned to have more children, but I was the first and only. My mother passed shortly after my birth. No one would explain to me how, but years later I was able to get a glimpse of the tome it was recorded in, that she had died from stress and hypertension. Magick wasn’t enough to save her… but in the end, she went to be with the Sun. I know she still watches over us.”

 

The vagabond was deathly still, feeling the weight of those words sink deep into his shoulders and grow unbearable. His last wish was to hurt the one who had sacrificed so very much for him. “ … I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you relive that.”

 

The Prince shook his head, allowing the smile on his lips to widen genuinely in the face of Yusei’s concern. “There’s no reason to apologize; all of us will one day draw our last breaths, even we of elvenkind. It gives me reason to make sure my own life doesn’t go to waste, however long or short it may be. She would have wanted me to give myself to others as she had to me.”

 

Yusei stared ahead, suddenly struck with understanding for the elf’s character, for why Atem had helped him the way he had, to the extent he had, from the start. It hit him with such force that he felt winded, out of breath, as if the horse he sat upon dislodged him in a wild rage and hurled him to the hard ground. Yusei had been wrong to doubt him, _Mire, so very wrong,_ and even so much as imagining that the elf had had ulterior motives in the beginning felt like a sin so foul that it covered his soul in tar.

 

The swordsman dared to speak again, finding the words leaving his mouth akin to the wise bravery that Atem harbored, and he wondered then if the elf had in fact begun to wear off on him. “For all that you’ve done for me, I think… she would have been proud.”

 

The heat of tears pricked Atem’s eyes, and as his watery gaze shifted back to the path they followed, he couldn’t help but smile at those words as they took root in his heart.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The snow trailing down thinned, the thick clouds overhead too beginning to give way as the day aged. By the time they arrived at mountain precipice and took a moment to take in the view before they headed down the natural route around the steep, the Sun was already beginning her descent into the horizon, her fiery edges sinking as if into the earth.

 

Yusei looked upon the scene as he had nearly every day, and it seemed no matter where he was in this land he called his home, the Sun’s eventide always looked the same. He wondered how different that could have been for Atem, and his gaze wandered to the elf with an inquisitiveness that was quickly noticed.

 

“Are the sunsets in Dramyria anything like this?”

 

Somewhere nearby, they heard birds singing their final songs to the day in the last few moments that it remained. Atem looked at how the sky’s hues blended as if it had been painted with watercolor, reminding him of the many scrolls and books he had stared at in the equally countless rooms of his palace whose colorful gradients brought the flavor of childhood to mind. For just a moment, he was transported back, and the scent of incense filled his nose. The sound of his cousin, Seto, training in the courtyard below with Mage Karim could be heard from the window.

 

The Prince visualized too the innumerable sunsets he had watched from his balcony throughout his life, as fire met the water of the bay and made the whole port shimmer with flaming gold. The sails of all the boats at the harbor were painted with crimson in the lighting, and Atem could smell the salt of the seawater rising to greet him with the breeze.

 

The sight before him now was nothing like it. With snow as far as they could see, mountain peaks cutting into the sky all around them, evergreens dotting the landscape for hundreds of leagues in all directions, and the bitter air of Klengardian winter biting his fur-clad body, it was a stark contrast to all he knew to be home.

 

His gaze wandered to Yusei, his eyes catching slowly on the man’s appearance, swaddled in dark furs with the glimpse of glimmering, silver armor beneath. Atem glanced at the man’s scar, allowing his eyes to trail down the swordsman’s cheek to his lips and chin, skipping down at last to his tall perch atop his black gelding, and wanting struck the elf in the depths of his chest.

 

Never before had Yusei appeared as valiant as he did now, a chevalier kissed by the light of the disappearing Sun, as if she was blessing him before she left for the night. Yusei had indeed seen the way his counterpart’s gaze swept over him, and the knot that formed in his abdomen was one that spoke of heat and the chance of passion. He swallowed.

 

“Atem?”

 

Sugilite and sapphire connected, and the inferno from the crystal caves of the mountain reappeared, proving as unshakeable as a hex in the way the gravitation between them pulled, in the way their heartbeats were set to race. It was as though the matter of the earth and cosmos were aligning, forming a spark so hot and so bright that it blotted out the existence of all other things. The zephyr that swept across them tousled locks gently against their faces, and when it disappeared, so too did the remaining light of the Sun, leaving streaks of orange, pinks, and blues in their wake. Atem’s gaze never once left Yusei’s before he spoke again.

 

“No, but this is just as beautiful in its own way.”

 

The feeling of pressing their lips to one another’s was nothing more than a suggestive whisper on departed winds, and they found themselves back in their own bodies, sitting atop their separate horses, the smell of pine and desolate winter surrounding them.

 

But on the fire burned, much more feverish than before.

 

The two turned from their vantage point and followed the mountain down, and as they descended they heard the great call of a dragon amid the skies far in the distance, only to see as they rounded the bend of trees that there was, not one, but a pair circling farther north. Their great bodies and wings were the brightest of white, contrasting boldly against the streaked tangerine backdrop. Yusei and Atem both lagged, drawing out the sight before they had to plunge back into the cover of trees, and at last the roaring along the horizon faded as the dragons flew back to whence they had come.

 

Night descended, falling as a heavy blanket around them, and the camp that they made with a pit that chased away the cold was one they settled easily into when they sat at its circumference. Atem read—searching for more remedies to his affliction—and Yusei tinkered for the first time in days, and things were as they had been. Save, of course, for the glances stolen of each other.

 

When they lay to rest, Atem found little hesitation in the way he tucked his head into the crook of his companion’s neck. Yusei felt the elf’s lips against his throat, ever-so-lightly chapped from the harshness of the cold but kept ever tender by the balms stowed away in his bag, and he had to suppress a shudder stemming straight from the flame in his belly that madly _yearned_ for those lips to go lower, lower, _lower._

 

He bit back those thoughts with the cruel teeth of his resolve, focusing instead on the way the elf’s arms wrapped around him, the gentle graze of fingers along his arm. He was able to take comfort in it for moments as his mind wandered, but he soon wished he hadn’t allowed it to do so.

 

An unsettling feeling touched down into his stomach when his mind presented him with a heartbreaking possibility: perhaps all of this was merely a normal part of Atem’s behavior—the touching, the feeling of intimacy, the promises he always kept. It struck Yusei now that he knew nothing of Dramyria besides what Atem had told him, and he was not so culturally dense that he imagined other countries would have the same kind of interpersonal relationships as his own. The Dramyrian elves may have very well acted like this with all of their friends and family, and had Yusei not thought of it, he would have been none the wiser.

 

It left him wondering exactly how Atem would have described their relationship, whether he felt as Yusei did, with his heart racing whenever he so much as touched the elf, whether there was a flame in the pit of Atem’s abdomen like there was in Yusei’s that would scorch and consume everything in its path were it to be cut from its binds and freed into action.

 

By now, Yusei could not deny what it was, at least not internally. Never once had he experienced affection and ardor go so hand in hand, his head, heart, and his loins agreeing like never before on how they adored Atem. It aligned his whole being with a sensation of tenderness, one that he could express with how his gloved fingers slid to the side of the elf’s neck, and Atem drew closer to him as a result. It made him feel guilty; if there really were a discrepancy between their feelings, wouldn’t it mean he was taking advantage of his position?

 

 _Gods_ , how much he wanted to ask, but how paralyzed he was to do so. If Atem’s feelings were really different from his own, how that would cast him into a pit of despair from which he would never be able to escape. He felt even choosing to avoid the likelihood of that over hearing the truth, however bitter it may have been, was a coward’s choice, and by some measure it was an act of choosing his own feelings over Atem’s— **_fuck_ ** , it brought dread back as a sharp prickling along his nape and spine that would not relent even if the elf were to touch him there.

 

His head bowed beside Atem’s, and with the way his arms tightened around the elven form in his grasp, it may as well have been an apology’s embrace. The Prince perceived the change, and his deep voice was gentle against the darkness of the night air as he broke the silence.

 

“Yusei…?”

 

The swordsman did not answer, the rustle of the pine leaves above as the wind passed through them the only response. Somewhere in the great distance, a stinging owl hooted. The elf persisted, his hands moving to cradle both sides of his companion’s face as he pulled back just enough to view him.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

Those royal blue eyes opened to look back at him, but they closed again when he could not find the words to say. Atem felt the man’s soft sigh against his lips as their foreheads touched together, and the elf ran his gloved thumb comfortingly on the hairline just behind Yusei’s ear, wondering with a silent apprehension what it could have been that was on his mind now. But the man seemed determined not to say, so Atem would not push him.

 

The Prince’s lips grazed just the corner of his partner’s mouth as he too closed his eyes to rest, and Yusei had to resist the urge to turn the fraction it would take to press their lips together in a soft kiss, fearing that it would not be appropriate, that it would not be wanted.

 

Together they slept, completely flush but paradoxically so terribly far from one another, separated by the questions they could not ask, and by the answers they could not give.

 

The Sky Mother watched, and the Guardian named Stardust watched with her. A gift of painting her auroras across her sky was all the Goddess could offer, for they knew soon the two below would fall back into the hands of treachery once they left the solace of the frigid Blue Rock Mountains.

 

From its seat in the hemlock tree just a dozen feet away from the Prince and the vagabond, a spruce skink lizard watched motionless for many moments before dashing back into the cover of the hollow behind it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Memories of home flickered like a sole candle flame in the mind of the Dramyrian elf, turning over and over again like a seamstress’ spinning wheel. The creaking of the ship masts in the port were somehow heard all the way from within the palace, the shining Moons above staring down upon the abandoned courtyards within the mighty residence. Everything was painted in a dreary grey-blue, one that was much more eerie than any blanket of storm clouds over the port city could ever hope to be. Outside, not a soul was present. In all of the harbor, there was no one in sight for as far as the eye could see.

 

From inside the throne room, Yusei stood, bowing not to the Dramyr King, and the Mages were all deathly silent, stirring not an inch, not even to blink.

 

In Yusei’s bare, human hands, something glittered and glowed, pulsating with light that set the shadows on the massive walls to dance, to writhe. The Prince could not see what it was.

 

The hall was silent. The creaking of wood continued.

 

The eyes of Atem’s father, grave, flickered down to the object in the human’s hands, before his expression dropped into one of utter choler, severe shadows carving into the grooves of his grimace like a hot iron through lard. For a King known for his generosity and kindness, the rage in his eyes that reflected the fires of the braziers and orbs of light illuminating the room could be described as nothing but wholly terrifying. Spines collected on Atem’s neck, biting, prickling, hissing.

 

The Prince could see a resigned hopelessness in Yusei’s eyes. Even under the weight of the King’s gaze, he did not look away.

 

Akhenamkhanen’s voice boomed out over the halls, echoing infinitely when at last he spoke and commanded the attention of everyone within the room. It permeated into the deathly skies, into the waters of the still harbor, echoing, echoing.

 

“There can be no redemption from this, not even by the Gods’ Decree. You shall be executed.”

 

Dread filled the entirety of the Prince’s being with solid ice, as if it had been siphoned in with glass tubes and the glass broken into him. It took seconds for him to even register what he had heard before a cry ripped its sudden way from his lips to shatter the calmness of the hall.

 

“No—stop!”

 

No one heard him. The mages were all grim.

 

“ _He hasn’t done anything!_ ”

 

Mage Seto marched forward, forcing Yusei to his knees with the power of his magick alone. Atem yelled, struggling to run forward to stop what he knew would happen to his dearest partner should they be left to continue, before he realized his legs would not obey. He looked down only to find he had been trapped in place by the mud of a quag, slowly sucking him down into it. The more he struggled, the more ensnared he became, the sludge dragging his boots beneath the surface and locking him in place. His feet were useless.

 

He floundered still, clawing in vain at the floors when the quag had drawn him down to his waist. Mud seeped into his armor, cementing his torso’s position.

 

The Prince was forced to watch helplessly as Seto imprisoned Yusei’s forearms behind his back with binds made of pure light, stinging the eyes with the sheer brightness of the magickal rope. His cousin then dragged the swordsman several paces back from the throne—something Atem had seen only once before when he had been on the verge of teenhood many years before, and his heart splintered immediately—only to be joined by several palace guards and Kisara, who lingered several paces behind him. Yusei’s hair hung in his eyes, blocking them from view. He appeared wholly resigned to his fate, moving not even a hair in struggle.

 

Kisara was the only one to look wordlessly in Atem’s way, her cerulean gaze locking on the sinking Prince and going unnoticed by him in the face of his desperation.

 

Seto’s shining sword sparkled with gold as it was drawn from its sheath, and Atem could feel the hoarseness of shouting already beginning to burn his raw throat as the sword was raised high into the air. The creaking was ceaseless, so loud now that the chaos in the Prince’s mind was spinning violently out of control in a tempest.

 

“ _Father, please, stop him!!_ ”

 

Seto and Akhenamkhanen both took no notice, and Kisara’s eyes stared on towards him when at last Seto’s blade hurtled down and filled the hall with the gruesome sound of a sword cutting cleanly through bone. Blood sprayed, and a head of black hair dropped with a dull thud against the stone floor.

 

“ **_—YUSEI!_ ** ”

 

Atem woke with an abrupt start, his body lurching forward and crashing his head with rattling force into another’s, only to be met with a foreign hiss of pain as he scrambled upright and away from the presence that he could not identify in his hysteria.

 

“ _—Atem—_ ”

 

The nightmare swam just behind his blurry eyes, tainting his vision and painting a wash of terror over the forest around them despite its tranquility in the small hours. The Prince’s heart hammered against his chest, dislodging his ribs with a feeling of chaos that couldn’t be consoled even when Yusei rose to a sit beside him, a hand on his stinging forehead as he very gently opened the other to show his harmlessness. Atem appeared as a wild deer, his watery eyes fearful and wide, and even in the low light of the Moons overhead, Yusei could see how blanched the elf’s dark face was of color.

 

“You’re not in any danger,” Yusei consoled gently, still as he allowed Atem to collect himself, noticing how rapid his respiration was. Recognition finally lit his eyes, and the elf sucked in a trembling breath, inhaling deeply in an attempt to slow his racing heart.

 

He glanced about them, his mind still reeling at the verisimilitude of the dream. Trees still surrounded them. The air was still frigid, and if the stinging of his cheeks was not enough proof, the visible condensation of his exhales were. They were not in Dramyria, where the air was warm. This was not the Reis’an Palace, and Yusei was still alive.

 

Yusei’s sapphire eyes grounded him the most, sapping out the terror from his body and replacing it with a feeling of security, of familiarity.

 

Atem inhaled slowly once more, releasing the breath with a sigh as he drew closer, the pain in his forehead surprisingly tame in comparison to his companion’s. He figured it had to be the adrenaline, and he blinked the tears from his eyes, quickly wiping away the one that had begun its descent down his cheek.

 

“I apologize, I didn’t mean to…”

 

Yusei dismissed it with a slight shake of head, rubbing his forehead just a touch more before letting the hand fall into his lap. Atem could see the concern in his eyes, but what he could not see was the haunting and painful suspicion that he had perhaps dreamt of the Mirewolf, coming to tear his soul from flesh in its pair of merciless jaws. That had to be it, he thought. There was nothing more terrifying than the beast that he was.

 

“A nightmare?”

 

Atem looked over his partner’s visage, over his body, reminding himself yet again that they were both safe. Something ticked at the back of his mind, unsettling and haunting, wretched like the sound of grating stone. He couldn’t shake the feeling that it had been more than just a dream. He thought of Isis’s words and drew in a double-breath, one shaking with the desire to weep.

 

“Yes.”

 

The Prince drew closer still, reaching carefully for Yusei’s gloved hand, and when the man gave no inclination of discomfort, he wrapped both of his own around the concealed set of claws. Quickly, Yusei realized what he was doing, and he allowed himself to be utilized for comfort by tightening his hold on Atem.

 

 **_This_ ** _is real._

 

The thought, the touch, the warmth of the Klengardian hand drew out the tension from the Prince’s shoulders like the caress of a warm breeze in lands distant. He shifted closer still until they were back under the cover of furs, where the feeling of safety was a heavy blanket over them. Atem’s hands grazed his companion’s cheeks, cradling them for a moment as his lips touched to Yusei’s forehead, and at last the temerity within him was freed with affection for just long enough that he allowed himself to press a firm kiss to the skin. He thought he heard Yusei hold his breath for just a beat, and in that moment he wondered what Yusei could be thinking, whether the intimacy was as strong for him as it was for the Prince. Yusei’s breath then continued against his neck, and those arms that he took so much comfort in wrapped securely around him; Atem could hardly remember a time when he felt as grounded as he did now.

 

_This is real._

 

“Will you be alright?”

 

He nodded slowly, his verbal response lagging. “Thank you, Yusei.”

 

The magickal closed his eyes, and though sleep was robbed from him for the night, he lay for many more hours able to rest nonetheless swaddled in Yusei’s embrace. He tried not to think of the nightmare, instead imagining the road ahead, of Hemera and what they would find there. He allowed himself the thought of a warm bed, a hot bath, and despite knowing he and his traveling companion would likely not sleep with each other as they had in the wilderness, he permitted the musing. How lovely it would be to tangle himself with Yusei in the softness and safety of a tavern cot, where armor, furs, and weapons were unnecessary. Just as pleasant was the thought that his body would not have to simultaneously battle the bitter cold and exhaustion of his Soul-Stitch, and he could rest his weakness, perhaps wrapped in a pair of arms that would hold him when he needed the comfort, just as they did now. Maybe they would find salvation in Hemera, or at least an escape from the chaos they had both been experiencing for two moons, and possibly from there he could propose that Yusei return with him to Dramyria, so that for the rest of his days the swordsman could live in comfort and never fear the imminence of persecution.

 

 _Ah,_ how sweet the days would be if he could finally watch Yusei find stability in his home. The Prince would open the doors to the palace wide for his entry; he needed just say the word and everything that had ever been Atem’s would be his as well, and the future monarch would allow no one to question Yusei’s presence. Even his father—as sore as the thought of him was that night—would not be able to deny him. After all, Yusei had put his own neck on the line to save Atem’s life, all without ever knowing who he was, and that kind of integrity had been revered in Dramyria since the Dragon Dynasty. Yusei would be regarded a hero, and people would flock to honor him.

 

Atem tried not to think about what would happen if he returned with nearly all of his magick gone, nor whether he would have to forfeit his ascent to the throne with no power. But… perhaps with the wisdom of his court he could find an answer to that impossible question. If it were feasible to help him now, his Court of Mages would be the ones. They were loyal and dedicated, and never once before had they failed him.

 

Those thoughts lingered with him even after the Sun rose, after he and Yusei had risen from their makeshift bed to start another long day of journeying. Yusei’s eyes seemed to linger even more than they had, not with wanting, but with worry and compassion. Atem had gotten away with caressing his scarred cheek in reassurance, and Yusei gave not even the slightest indication that the touch was unwanted with the way his gloved hand grazed the Prince’s wrist in acknowledgement.

 

How Atem would have loved to press his lips against Yusei’s then, kissing him tenderly, eagerly. A part of him regretted not doing so as soon as they had gathered their things and mounted their horses, when Yusei atop his own seemed so far away and so out of reach.

 

Their gazes intersected often for the rest of the day, speaking words they could not say aloud.

 

Hunger sunk in more severely as the hours wore on, and it was evident the both of them felt its effects with the way Yusei eyed the forest they passed for anything moving, edible, or both. The mountain wood was silent, withholding its scarce winter supply of food, and the two went on for much longer without anything to eat. In its place, Atem drank his fill of water, warm from hanging so close to his body beneath the mass of furs around him, and the body heat that kissed his mouth and stomach was more than welcome considering how it managed to trick his belly, at least a little, into believing he had consumed something of value.

 

The façade only managed to stave away the famished emptiness for a while longer, however, and Atem found that he had to stop, at least to brew tea with enough honey that he could regain some sense of his fingertips, tingling not from the cold but from weakness.

 

Atem began to slow his steed, and Yusei was quick to note the change as he too brought his gelding to a leisurely amble. He rode a little closer to his elven counterpart, turned attentively to him and unable to miss how colorless Atem’s face appeared with his hunger.

 

“Should we stop?”

 

“Just allow me a moment to rest, and I’ll be ready to continue.”

 

The swordsman was the first to dismount his horse, taking the reins into one hand as he offered the other to Atem to alight. The Prince utilized the support as he lowered himself quickly to the ground, his arm nearly buckling under the weight of his body and knocking gently into his helper. Yusei was prepared to catch him, but Atem being the proud elf that he was was fast to stabilize, giving his hand a wordless squeeze of thanks and casting a glance back to him that spoke of much more gratitude. They were close enough that Atem could feel the warmth of the man’s breath on his cheek, and yet another pang of desire shot through his body, released not even when he let go of his hand and began to dig through his bag hanging at the side of his horse’s saddle.

 

Yusei’s eyes lingered far longer than they should have.

 

“I’ll make us some tea to ward off the hunger,” the Prince mused, moving the items he had gathered to the forefront of the pouch for easier accessibility later. “If you could help me find firewood, I’ll find a place for repose…”

 

The thin sheet of frost and snow underfoot was nothing like it had been farther back up the mountains, but sitting in it would still do nothing kind to their furs or body temperature. No, the ground would not do, and as he sauntered in the direction of a cluster of trees for their natural shield against the wind, Yusei didn’t have to be asked twice as he took his own horse with him in an adjacent direction, careful to make a mental note of where they were, as the woods could seem infinite and identical in all directions if one didn’t pay proper attention. The last thing he needed was to lose Atem out here in the wilderness when they were so far away from any imaginable help.

 

The foot- and hoof prints that Atem and his mount left behind led past the large group of pines, the crunching of ice beneath his boots accompanying every step as he ambled into a denser wood, complete with bare shrubs and bushes. His stomach grumbled in complaint, and he scowled at the whistle of wind above in the tops of the trees.

 

Somewhere in the distance, the Prince heard a faint song, a distinct harmony of quiet masculine and feminine voices, before it faded into the breeze. His amethyst eyes grew wide, pointed ears straining to hear it again as he followed the direction of where the sound had been.

 

The Prince straightened with hope. Perhaps there was someone living out here, someone who could help them with even so little as directions, or conceivably someone with a bigger heart could spare any amount of hot food, or even seconds in their warm cottage—

 

Atem’s ears led him to an opening in the trees, where the forest bloomed open around a small pond. A large and ancient tree was at his right, much older than any of the pines surrounding, and the massive hollow in its base snared his attention for a full moment before he could look away. Many more shrubs were found at its circumference, and had he been any more distracted he may not have noticed the small spheres of crimson littering the one on its left, but his eyes caught immediately on the sight, excitement shocking him through every vein and ending at those numb fingertips that would be numb no more thanks to his discovery.

 

“ _Gods,_ lingonberries—”

 

He found himself thanking every Divine he could name as he hurried to the shrub, picking a cluster from its branch and popping one onto his tongue, and despite its coldness, sweet tartness permeated his mouth and reached into the deepest pit of his stomach where his aching hunger lay, beckoning him with a commanding pull to eat his fill. Even his white gelding began to pick at the bush after having eaten very little the previous several days, and Atem too was quick to begin plucking all of the berries in sight, occasionally treating himself to a couple when he finished the previous few as he organized the rest into a neat pile for Yusei when he arrived.

 

The thought of seeing his face light up at the reality of food brought a smile to the Prince’s face as he continued to harvest, and he would have been finished in only minutes had not a soft voice interrupted him. He heard his name like a whisper on the wind, spoken by a voice all too familiar, and Atem turned in the direction of the pond whence it had come only to find no one there.

 

He waited silently, listening intently, and before he could turn and resume his task, the harmony began again, the sound mellow and silken.

 

The voices grew louder, the song ringing with clarity now across the body of water. So beautiful was the sound, the crescendos and decrescendos of voices seemingly originating from the pond itself that Atem felt utterly ensnared, the berries falling carelessly from his gloved hand as he turned more fully to receive the music with both ears. His eyes closed in bliss, and he was unable to see the shape that emerged from the water, shimmering endlessly in the daylight and barely humanoid as it stepped onto the banks and left only small puddles in its wake when it drew closer to the Prince.

 

Its watery form at last took a definitive appearance the moment Atem opened his eyes, droplets becoming skin and robes that flowed with every movement like they were suspended underwater. The elf’s breath caught in his throat as the man approached, dressed in the fabrics he knew so well, in the silks and fine linens of palace raiments he almost distinctly remembered seeing in Reis’a. His every movement was grace, and the Prince found himself winded as the man stepped ever closer.

 

“ _Yusei—?_ ”

 

He smiled, gracing his tanzanite eyes with a joyful twinkle Atem had never before seen, and _Heavens,_ it made his heart tremble. So incapacitated was he that he was frozen in place, able to only sigh into the touch when Yusei cupped his hands around the Prince’s cheek and the back of his head and lead him slowly to his feet, alluringly closer. Atem glanced to his lips, yearning for them with a vehemence he had never before felt, not moments before, nor even when he had seen the stars in Yusei in the crystal cave. Yusei’s smile widened as if sensing the elf’s thoughts, and with a confident move forward their lips met softly but with a passion that sent heat flooding down to the Prince’s loins. A hot tongue met with his own, tasting of lingonberries, and Atem surrendered to the pent-up tension he had been restraining for weeks.

 

His hand fisted in Yusei’s soft hair, dragging him into a more consuming exchange when he led the Prince farther towards the pond. When their lips parted, Atem’s heart hammered madly against his chest, the rush of blood to the head so strong that had the other not been holding onto him, he would have surely stumbled in dizziness. Atem opened his eyes as the man pulled away, but his hands slid to the Prince’s fingers and led him slowly, gently towards him.

 

Their surroundings were no longer of the winter forest; the heat of the Sun blazed against Atem’s skin in the way he loved and missed so terribly, and he himself was no longer clad in armor and thick furs, but instead familiar robes were draped around his shoulders and hips, allowing free movement. Behind Yusei was the Reis’an oasis Atem hadn’t seen in many moons, beautiful in the mix of sun and shade and sparkling with fresh, naturally-filtered spring water. He smelled the faint scent of salt on the wind from the distance, now bare feet soaking in the heat of the sand underfoot.

 

Forgotten were the trees, the pond, his Stitch and the weakness that came with it; all that remained was the taste of lingonberries—of Yusei’s mouth—on his tongue. The weight of anxiety and suffering evaporated off of the Prince’s shoulders as simply as flecks of water in the rays of the Sun. Not single a worry was left in all of his being, with his charoite eyes locked on those pools of fixated sapphire that spoke of nothing but tenderness and affection.

 

The gold bangles on Yusei’s wrists clinked quietly as he led Atem into the oasis, their feet breaking the calm and glassy surface of the cool water, lovely in the face of the desert climate, and sending soft ripples all across the surface. A lotus-billed grebe flew directly over them as it chittered enthusiastically, the feathers on the tips of its wings just barely kissing the top of their joined hands and sending a gust of pleasant air over their bodies. Atem couldn’t help but watch as it flew in the direction of the visible palace in the distance, and a wider, contented smile pulled at Yusei’s lips.

 

“Atem.” The Prince’s gaze flickered quickly back, and the Klengardian continued, “Let’s go home.”

 

A gentle beckon was all it took for Atem to go eagerly into Yusei’s awaiting arms, and when those warm lips pressed against his own once more, they crashed into the surface of the oasis and the water enveloped and accepted them completely. They sank lower—deeper than he had ever remembered the oasis being—the kiss stealing every bit of oxygen from him, but even when he felt the desire to breathe, he could feel no pain as water invaded his lungs.

 

Yusei’s arms were wrapped tightly around him, cradling the Prince against his own firm body, and the need for oxygen was forgotten as the exchange of tongues became ever more fervent, until consciousness had been ripped from him completely.

 

Everything faded to black.

 

In the darkness, there was no sound, no feeling, no sensation. The elf forgot he so much as existed. Millenia may as well have come and gone, completely unnoticed.

 

He had become One with Nothing.

 

But something distant disturbed his slumber, knocking on his consciousness just hard enough that he could feel its reverberation through his soul. Paying attention had become exhausting, however, and he strained just to note the faraway sound.

 

What felt like eons of listening followed, and at long last the Prince could just barely make out the voice.

 

Yusei’s.

 

“ **_Atem!_ ** ”

 

Suddenly, a bitter, painful cold flourished in his veins and mapped the layout of the body he hadn’t remembered he had. He couldn’t so much as dream of opening his eyes lest the glacial temperatures touch and sear his vision, but most excruciating of all was the feeling of ice in his lungs, burning and freezing all at once, and as he realized he could not breathe, the electricity of panic electrified every inch of his hypothermic body.

 

He tried to scream back, but gelid water trapped the sound, killing it before it could even form, and he could neither breathe nor swallow nor do anything but thrash and struggle for help that he feared could not follow him.

 

Something above him crashed into the water, shifting the pressure against his body, and it was then that he realized there was still a grip on his wrists, dragging him farther down into the pond where he would be forever out of Yusei’s reach.

 

With his eyes closed, he saw not the man who dove, swimming ever deeper without the hindrance of his furs and armor, nor did he see the way the siren gripping him snarled with its clear, indistinct mouth, threateningly bearing teeth like icicles as the gills at the sides of its throat flared open in warning.

 

With all of his might, Yusei clawed at the magickal’s hands and ripped them violently from their grip on the Prince, tearing open the creature’s camouflaged skin that bled purple and plankton from the wound. The siren released a vile screech that penetrated everything in the water, causing the both of them to cringe in excruciation as it darted away with a mighty push of its finned tail.

 

Yusei wasted no time in throwing an arm around his companion’s waist and beginning his ascent back up to the surface, hauling Atem’s near-unconscious body with him before he could lose all of the oxygen he had sucked desperately in before his initial dive. For seconds he struggled, fearing he would not emerge in time with how seemingly far away the light was and how little progress he seemed to be making with another person in tow. But he couldn’t allow himself to give up, not when the call of survival was so great, the need to save Atem’s life screaming at him so loud that he could barely even feel the violent sting of freezing water around his entire being.

 

He couldn’t fail now. _He couldn’t fucking fail now—_

 

The two exploded from the tarn as they surfaced, a frantic gasp ripping from his lips as he dragged their freezing forms to the banks of the pond. To the swordsman’s horror, Atem had lost consciousness again, his body unmoving and not drawing breath, his dark wine and blonde locks sticking messily to his face as Yusei’s shivering, numb fingers rolled him onto his back. He shook him despairingly, the panic already beginning to set in as the elf made no indication of still being alive.

 

“Atem, **_wake up—_ ** ”

 

His savage claws pressed against the Dramyrian’s neck, searching for a pulse that was just barely noticeable as he centered Atem’s head and checked for breathing. Fear seized every muscle in his body, and before he could register what he was doing, he was already pinching the elf’s nose with one hand and grabbing him by the square of his jaw with the other, sealing his own mouth over Atem’s and blowing as hard as his lungs would allow.

 

The Prince did not respond, stirring not a hair, and Yusei’s desperate eyes shut as he repeated the procedure for what felt like eternities longer. He couldn’t stop; he couldn’t let it end like this when Atem had done absolutely everything to keep him safe. Not before he got home safely, to his own family in his own country.

 

Not before he could say goodbye, before he could repay an ounce of what he had been so selflessly given.

 

Frigid water ruptured violently from Atem’s mouth, leaving Yusei a coughing mess as the elf too rolled to his side and hacked out all of the fluids he had both taken into his lungs and ingested. For a full moment, Atem continued to cough forcefully, panting and gasping for oxygen that he so fiercely needed, but he was given absolutely no break from his suffering even as breath came, because the symptoms of severe hypothermia had already set in, in the way his body shivered vigorously, his mind lacking any hope of lucidity. He continued to draw breath in struggled pants, having absolutely no feeling in his fingers even as he grabbed for Yusei’s shoulder in a wordless plea for help, his confusion so extreme that he could not form coherent words.

 

The cold seized him again, and darkness swallowed him whole as his head thudded dully to the frozen ground.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Atem woke, it was for only brief seconds before his body would give out once again in need of more rest. Something unbelievably warm and heavy blanketed him, and he remembered the sensation of a soothing vibration against his entire being that would continue and pause in a rhythm that he recalled reminded him of breathing. He shivered still, returning unwittingly to his exhausted slumber as he basked in its heat.

 

The second time he woke, he was barely conscious enough that he could open his eyes and view what it was that was laid over him, and in his lack of sense he could feel no alarm even as he came to the realization that it was the Beast of the Mire that trapped him under its weight, though it appeared to him to be sleeping. He remembered running an uncoordinated and clumsy hand through its fur, surprisingly soft for the pelage belonging to a daemon, and it grumbled quietly before he lost consciousness yet again.

 

By the third time he roused from rest, what lay next to him was not the Mirewolf, but the human body of Yusei, turned away from him despite how the Prince was curled around him for warmth. Just a yard away, a fire now blazed, and as he stirred further from sleep he realized they were in the base of the pine hollow that he had noticed before, what seemed to be lifetimes ago, but was likely just earlier that day. Night had already fallen and the forest around them was quiet, and just beyond the entrance of the hollow were the banks of the pond, completely still and void of any sign of life.

 

Atem groaned as he rose to a sit, immediately regretting it as the furs fell away from his bare body and left him exposed to the air, which would have been much colder were the fire not only a pace away. Yusei stirred, his barren torso emerging too from the furs, and somewhere outside the horses nickered quietly.

 

The question died in his throat as the Prince glanced up to see their wet clothes and his wet furs hanging to dry just above the fire, suspended by Yusei’s sword which he had speared into the thick bark of the tree to use as a makeshift clothesline. A couple feet away, their armor and bags sat, seemingly forlorn.

 

A violent shiver rattled Atem’s body, and he sunk back down to Yusei’s side under the furs, but the man seemed nothing but pensive even as Atem’s touch graced the bare skin of his shoulder blade, causing him to turn, and normally would have erased his worries, if but for a time. The Prince couldn’t help but notice how that wasn’t the case now.

 

Yusei’s voice was small when at last he spoke. “Are you alright?”

 

Atem had to think for a moment, struggling to recall all of his hazy memories that felt like they had occured millennia ago. But slowly, as he put together the pieces, he grew more somber with the realization that Yusei had undergone two excruciating transformations without the aid of any of his medicines. There was no way that memory had been a dream.

 

“I’m much better now.” Something shattered in Yusei’s expression—he suddenly hated the brave face that Atem would put on—and the small quiver in his brows didn’t go unnoticed as Atem continued. “What happened to me? I remember the wolf.”

 

The swordsman was silent for a beat as he relived the events, still too thoughtful and quiet for comfort. When he spoke, his voice was hushed, wishing he didn’t have to speak the words leaving his lips. “Ice sirens seduced you and led you into the pond.” He nearly bit back the following thought until he decided with dismay against it. “You drowned, and when I pulled you out of the water, your heart was slowing, and you weren’t breathing. I didn’t know how else to stop it; you were succumbing to hypothermia—”

 

Delicate fingers touched Yusei’s shoulder, and with his confliction he nearly pulled away from it in hurt. Atem saw the way his eyes darkened with something tortured, almost mourning, and he struggled to understand what it was.

 

“But I didn’t. You saved me, Yusei.”

 

The Prince saw his lip tremble, his jaw setting to fight back the urge to weep. How close Atem had been to death had been terrifying in the moment, but the longer he was left to sit and mull over the events that transpired, the more he felt useless to stop the inevitable if they continued going down this road together.

 

He had known from the start, since the moment he had taken a life as a cursed being, that never would he live a life of fortune. It had been stripped from him, just like the humanity from his body, like the innocence from his reputation. Nothing good would ever come from him standing at Atem’s side as an ally, no matter how pure his intentions were.

 

Atem was better off without him. How many scrapes with Death would they have; how many were acceptable, before the final act would come? Yusei had imagined countless times by now living in a world without him, and every single one was nothing but utter misery after having been touched by his golden presence, filled with compassion and light and warmth.

 

“I should have stayed with you.”

 

“Don’t begin blaming yourself for something that wasn’t your doing,” Atem quickly answered, his brows furrowing in sorrow. He couldn’t stand to see Yusei tear himself apart like this.

 

“I could have stopped it before you were dragged in—”

 

Atem’s hands moved to cup Yusei’s cheeks, beckoning him to look into his eyes. “Listen to me, Yusei—”

 

Tanzanite locked with his amethyst, and it was then that the Prince could see the depth of his suffering, the leagues upon leagues of hatred for himself and all that he had ever done wrong since his curse began, and Atem could barely breathe faced with it, feeling a sudden, overwhelming need grip him in the core of his being to just _put a swift end to all of the anguish Yusei had to live with._

 

“You almost **_died_ ** —”

 

That thought shattered like a mirror into a thousand facets of reality when Atem’s lips pressed suddenly to his, with a yearning that could not be expressed by words alone no matter how the elf may have tried. He kissed Yusei with all the feeling he could muster, finally given the opportunity after what seemed like lifetimes to free his passion—not with an illusion, but with the living, breathing, real human being he loved so. A single hand slid down to Yusei’s chest, feeling the way the man’s heart now hammered against his ribs, and the Prince led into several subsequent kisses that were so overflowing with emotion that they did not part until their tongues had met and grown acquainted with one another.

 

When Atem’s mouth broke from his, they were both left panting, wanting and restless, and Yusei was stilled from his torment. He seemed utterly speechless, surprise written over every one of his features, but he did nothing to protest, showing not a single sign of discomfort as Atem stroked his cheeks and buried his hands in those midnight locks for the first time with the intent of pulling him in for another.

 

“No more of that,” the elf insisted, and he kissed the man passionately once again and felt himself become wrapped in the embrace that he adored so terribly, the one that could erase all of his woes with its heat and promise of safety.

 

They lost themselves in their exchange, the fire that had been burning for so long, seemingly in isolation within each of them, barreling into each other in a collision that left them both searing even in the face of the icy air and burning to the ground in a blaze of quiet moans and shifting bodies. Atem was unable to recall when in the haze of his passion he had rolled onto his newfound lover, their forms a constant push and pull of apologies and insisting innocence, and when Yusei had avoided touching him again with those monstrous hands, the Prince pinned them to the furs laid beneath them, his lips breaking away with a breathless gasp as he stared down at the human beneath him. With their hips pressed together in the sitting straddle Atem now assumed, desire thrummed in his core with such powerful beckoning that he was sure Yusei had noticed.

 

Their chests heaved as they both took the opportunity to catch their breaths, and the Prince couldn’t help but notice the reflection of disappointment and yearning in Yusei’s eyes once they parted. Atem could wait no longer to ask, the question begging to be spoken into existence now that there was finally an opportunity for it. There was no doubt at this point what Yusei thought of him; it was written clear as day in the shimmer of his tanzanite hues, in the way he appeared wholly captivated looking up at Atem.

 

“How long have you felt like this?”

 

The swordsman’s mind struggled to find a response, unable to answer that question even for himself in the weeks past. Perhaps it had set in after they wandered into the wilderness, intent on finding refuge together hundreds of leagues away in a place Atem had never been to, putting all of his faith in Yusei to guide them there safely through a treacherous mountain range and freezing weather when his body was already at severe risk of collapse. Or perhaps, it had been even before then, when the elf had given everything he had to offer in exchange for Yusei’s life, even after discovering the vile creature that he was. Possible still was it that Yusei had begun to fall for him in the nights that they sat together and watched the stars, speaking idly of religion and stories and past experiences as they ate, only to retire to that warm room Atem had so generously shared with him from that first night they met.

 

Yusei remembered how their eyes had locked when Atem had just come into the tavern, and gods, had anyone told him at the time that that elf would be the same person he would become completely tangled in only two moons later, he would have surely thought them a complete lunatic.

 

But now, there was no denying it, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything on earth.

 

His mind still reeled at the reality of his position, his ghastly fingers twitching under Atem’s hold, as if to insist there was nothing illusory about the passion that had burst into bloom between them.

 

“I don’t know when it began,” he started, lamely, “…but it’s been longer than a moons since I started feeling like this… Once the thoughts came, they kept coming—no matter what I did, I couldn’t stop them.”

 

Atem’s warm gaze flickered to Yusei’s hands, his grip releasing so he could slide his own fingers in the spaces between the swordsman’s, their bare palms aligning for the first time. He hesitated, speaking before he could justify proceeding. “Why does it still sound like you’re apologizing?” he mused thoughtfully, and a flash of remorse darted over Yusei’s features before Atem attempted to erase it with their fingers intertwining, and his hands gave a gentle squeeze.

 

“I’m the one at fault for making the first advance. Perhaps I was always too impulsive…” As if suddenly realizing a mistake, uncertainty stained his expression, and he looked insistently into his companion’s eyes. “But it was unsolicited… If it’s not what you want, tell me to stop—”

 

“No.”

 

Yusei’s whisper bolted from him before he himself could register what he was saying. The two stared at each other silently for seconds as the fire crackled beside them, continuing to fill the hollow with a pocket of warmth that made the frigid air somehow tolerable with the body heat of each other.

 

Yusei’s right hand stirred, and upon the sign of wanting to move, Atem drew his own back and allowed the man’s black fingers to reach halfway to his face. He hesitated when the sight of his claws met his vision. Ever present was the guilty reluctance to touch him with his vile curse, and had not Atem’s grasp caught on his retreating hand and guided it to his cheek, he would have pulled it completely away and drawn into himself again in shame.

 

The Prince cradled the dark hand to his skin, closing his eyes and leaning his head into the palm to encourage the touch. And while a guilty conscience screamed ever at the back of Yusei’s mind, beckoning him not to continue, to pull away and isolate himself far from anyone he had ever loved, he could not allow it to be so with the way the elf so thoroughly appeared to enjoy his touch. He allowed his thumb to slowly caress Atem’s cheek, fingertips softly grazing the elf’s neck, and the Prince sighed gently with a distinct yearning that Yusei could never mistake for anything other than bliss, no matter how long he may have tried to convince himself otherwise.

 

His human heart spoke, _beckoned,_ commanding him to pull Atem closer, and he was powerless to stop himself as he guided those lips back down to his to continue their physical colloquy as passionately as it had been. As the heat began again, Atem led Yusei’s tentative hands downward, over the planes of his chest and abdomen, and when he sensed the man’s discomfort and intent to glance down when his fingers trailed over sensitive scar tissue, the Prince kissed him more fervently and gently shook his head, lips still feathering on his as he spoke.

 

“Don’t look,” he pleaded, kissing him with a passion that consumed the both of them in desire and reduced them to panting disorder within moments, and no longer was it enough to merely touch, to merely kiss. Atem’s body yearned for something more that could never be sated if he did not act.

 

If Yusei was the pyre, Atem was the oil doused upon it, the torch set alight, and that fated toss onto him as catalysts to the inferno that exploded forth from them when the elf rolled his hips into Yusei’s own. The gasp that left Atem was strangled from the lightning that shot up his spine from his loins.

 

“Touch me, Yusei.”

 

The Prince latched onto his terrible claws and brought them to rest on his bare hips, and Yusei would have flinched away had the elf not put his touch there himself. Atem caressed the man’s fingers and knuckles in encouragement, whispering against his lips this time.

 

“Touch me.”

 

The Were did as he was told, letting the sensitive pads of his fingers map the smoothness of the elf’s skin and over the ridges of his shoulder blades and hips. They shared a heady moan as Atem rubbed their excitement together, combing his hands and tender touch over the tingling of the man’s neck and back to cradle his head gently against the furs.

 

When he could no longer hold himself back, enchanted by the irresistible motion of the Prince’s body and the way his groin dug in need of Yusei’s, the swordsman pushed forward to catch Atem’s mouth with his own.

 

Oh, how the way Atem’s teeth teased his lip awoke something carnal within him that had lay dormant, the taste of that tongue and the simper of that mouth pressed to his fully exciting him. For moments more they lost themselves in each other, respiration reduced to nothing but breathlessness as they ground fervidly into one another and their bodies prepared for the inevitable, insatiable fires of passion. So lost was Yusei in the feeling of his lover that he hadn’t the mind to actively notice the hand that had slid to the back of his hip, as scorching as the touch was. But when those fingers swept over the curve of his rear, the third digit pressing lower into the crease and caressing his opening, his spine curved upwards harshly, the hiss of a moan leaving him as his ghastly nails scraped Atem’s lower back.

 

He berated himself for the action, promptly apologizing as he both glanced and felt for damage in the softness of skin, but he was interrupted by the hand that turned his face forward, a firm kiss pressed to his lips to quell the guilt.

 

“You haven’t hurt me.”

 

“Atem—”

 

He had nothing more to say, all of the words erased instantly from his mind as that finger pressed more into him, teasing but never entering. The breath that punched out of Yusei’s mouth was followed by the way his lips caught on the elf’s, tugging, wanting.

 

Uncertainty had already taken root in his heart, a nervousness that could not be shaken no matter how well he knew his inamorato had his best interest in mind. His claws met with the skin of Atem’s forearm, stilling his movement as he had intended.

 

“I’m not ready...” As if to further explain, he nestled his hardness more firmly against the elf’s own, and it drew a gasp from him. “Just not for that.”

 

In the light of the flame, Atem’s eyes burned earnestly like rubies in place of amethysts. Understanding met his gaze, and he withdrew his hand, stroking the cheek beside where his attention had been and giving it a soft squeeze before allowing his touch to slide back to the _v_ of Yusei’s hips.

 

“Then will you have me?”

 

Yusei’s mouth felt exceedingly dry, and the twitch against Atem’s thigh did not go unnoticed by him.

 

“Yes.”

 

A greater softness touched those elven eyes, and the kiss that they shared was nearly chaste as Atem bid Yusei’s still-hesitant hands to roam freely. Their hips rolling together, Atem’s hand guided those ghastly claws to his ass as he reached to grab for his bag. His lover below watched with curiosity, unable to refrain from noticing definition in Atem’s muscles and the way his movement carved deep grooves into his inner thighs and rear as he bent.

 

He allowed himself to touch, and though his hands were ever hesitant, he was still comforted by the knowledge that it was nothing but his lover’s wish. The elf sighed, easing into Yusei’s caress with his back dipping deeper to the man’s reach. When the clinking inside the bag had stopped and Atem withdrew a small jar of something clear, the hooded sapphire of the swordsman’s eyes regained a touch of clarity with his look of question.

  
“What is it?”

 

“Aloe vera, a plant native to the sands just outside of the city I call home.” He removed the lid, dipping his fingers into what Yusei could now see was a viscous and incredibly stringy substance. He would have thought it was slime had it not appeared so pure.

 

“You’re going to use that?” The question was an innocent one, lacking skepticism despite how Atem wouldn’t have faulted him for it. Instead, a knowing smile tugged at the Prince’s lips, and after coating his fingers in the gel he did the same with the palm of his other hand and set aside the jar, out of the way but just within reach.

 

“Taste.”

 

Their gazes connected, holding as Yusei trustfully parted his lips and allowed Atem’s fore- and middle fingers to dip gently into his mouth to his awaiting tongue. The gel was cool, slimy, but not necessarily unpleasant in texture. Perhaps thicker saliva would have been the same, because the substance was blank in flavor.

 

“It has no taste.”

 

“In its natural form, it’s quite bitter. But since it’s used as a balm both externally and within the mouth, the use of magick to make it tasteless has its purpose.”

 

Atem sat back on his lover’s hips, trailing a slow finger down Yusei’s chest and watching every muscle twitch in response as he went, leaving a thin sheen of aloe behind where he had touched. Yusei watched the intention light in his eyes as he did the same for the ridge of Yusei’s hips, following that steep _v_ until his coated hand ever-so-lightly grazed the side of the man’s erection.

 

Yusei’s sigh of anticipation was audible over the crackling of the fire beside them, and it tugged the Prince’s lips into a wider grin as he at last wrapped his lithe hand around the man’s circumference and caressed the head already beading with precome with a tantalizing thumb. He led into a slow, firm stroke, and the gasps Yusei yielded were more than enough to communicate that Atem’s actions were thoroughly enjoyed. He enjoyed them so much, in fact, that his claws kneaded into the flesh of his lover’s back and hips and tugged him down for yet another kiss.

 

“You don’t have to do this,” he struggled, but Atem responded with a firmer grip and quicker pace.

 

“You’re right. This is of my own desire.”

 

Yusei noticed not at first when Atem reached behind him, stroking his own opening methodically with his fingers coated in aloe, but when the swordsman pulled him down for yet another kiss and the elf gasped seemingly without reason, Yusei’s eyes immediately flickered down with concern. He soon realized no harm had come to his lover, and instead the pant had been the result of Atem taking the width of his fingers.

 

Yusei felt himself throb painfully in desire, the anticipation stripping his patience away like tearing dry bark from a tree. The Prince kissed him again, biting his lower lip and alluringly tugging on it while continuing to pump him relentlessly. The coil within was nearing its violent snap, and between the sound of Atem’s hitch of breath while rocking onto his own fingers and the rhythm of his hand, Yusei swore he was going to lose it before he could be used to serve his beau.

 

He gave Atem’s ass a firm, wanting squeeze, eliciting a moan from him, but his hand continued relentlessly on. The Prince's control over his movement even in the face of his involuntary reactions was something that stunned Yusei, and he could have no more lest he finish before their true passion even began. A set of claws caught Atem by the wrist, ceasing his ministrations, and Yusei quickly sat up and caught his lover by the lips to whisper against them.

 

"I can't take any more, Atem—"

 

The Prince kissed him, the taste of his tongue permeating throughout his mouth. With a hitched moan Yusei pulled Atem's hips over his own with the hopes he would understand, and understand is exactly what he did as he grinned against Yusei's lips and rolled his hips onto the ones beneath him.

 

"Do you want me?"

 

"All of you." Thoughtless and void of restraint was his response, his groin bucking back, and the biting kisses seemed to be ceaseless as they rutted mindlessly into each other.

 

At last Yusei's patience was whittled to nothing, and when his hands guided this lover's hips to a hover so he could reach for his length, Atem's hands settled on his shoulders for support. Even all of the anticipation in the known world couldn't have prepared the Prince for the feeling of Yusei's head pressing against his opening, and the gasp that left him was breathless, as if Yusei had in fact been the siren who had stolen all of the oxygen from his lungs.

 

With Yusei’s help, Atem rocked each, slow inch onto him, taking his full girth with a strangled moan. They both hissed in pleasure, and through his hooded eyes Yusei watched his lover’s back arch beautifully, his head bowed forward in a bliss and mouth agape to pant desperately against the swordsman’s shoulder. Yusei did his best to remain aware enough of his actions that his claws would not dig into Atem’s hips in the euphoria of his tightness like instinct so very much wanted, so he instead squeezed his lover’s rear firmly to encourage him.

 

When Atem’s hips settled completely against his, taking his full length as his legs just _barely trembled_ from the pleasure and strain, their lips met again with an unreserved and needing passion.

 

How many times had they imagined this moment, in both conscious thoughts and wild dreams that had seem so far fetched at the time? That question echoed within them, reverberating in their touch as they stroked each other and unleashed the love they had smothered so many times before. Finally Yusei was given the chance to touch the scarring he felt so responsible for, his hands gingerly combing over the irritated flesh with a tone of apology that Atem was quick to pick up. The elf massaged his forearms, his eyes still glassy with lust but somehow clear enough that he could firmly stare at his lover and communicate without a single word that he would have none of it, that his sacrifice was a proud one which would accept no placement of blame.

 

Yusei’s tanzanite eyes softened, relenting as he stroked the skin lovingly and left it be to trail his hands lower to Atem’s lithe hips, clutching them in place whilst rolling his own in a gentle thrust.

 

The Prince’s head swam with carnal desire, and he had no intention of holding it back as his hands dug into those windswept raven locks he loved so and rocked his hips eagerly. His hitched groan and the emboldened way his lips and tongue warred against the elf was more beautiful to him than any siren’s song could ever hope to be, and for a moment Atem admired his lover’s firm body with a trail of hand over his shoulder and chest, touching down to the taut muscles of his abdomen as the man rutted his hips upwards into Atem’s.

 

The Prince tugged quietly at his beau’s lower lip, speaking softly against it with the beginnings of a moan staining his voice like scarlet ink on a virgin page of parchment when Yusei’s fingers scraped alluringly up his back. “I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want you.”

 

“Me, of all of the people you could have chosen—?”

 

Atem’s lips swept to the man’s neck, biting softly and eliciting a shuddering gasp from him. “None of them are anything like you.”

 

As if to stress his point, the Prince finally began a gradual rhythm onto his hardness, an arm kept locked around Yusei’s shoulders for support. Gradually growing used to his lover’s size he thrust his hips faster, helpless groans escaping the both of them with the overwhelming pleasure that rammed into their forms like the violent waves of the western coast.

 

Lust compelled them both to move faster, harder, with more and more effort, and through the blinding concupiscence they could no longer kiss with restraint, mouths attacking each other the way savage animals would and ending at one other’s throats to suck and bite and mark. Yusei clutched Atem so close to himself that their chests slew against each other, the friction eased only by the sweat that had begun to coat their flesh.

 

The swordsman tugged with a commanding strength on his lover’s hips, aiding his every movement by adding to its force, and when Atem had thrown his head back to ride him with euphoric abandon, he was so moved with his overwhelming desire to love him that he thrust himself forward and trapped the elf between his own feverish body and the furs cushioning them below like he had dreamt of doing for weeks.

 

The incessant, lewd slap of flesh only quickened, and by then the Prince could think of absolutely nothing else save for how Yusei’s hips drilled into his own; how violently tight the coil in the depths of him had wound, constricting tighter _and tighter_ until he felt like he would snap explosively in half with a cry that would be heard by all the Gods that were.

 

“ _—Yusei, please—!_ ”

 

The Dramyr Prince Atem had never been taught to beg for anything, but he couldn’t bear the thought of pausing for even a moment, his ankles locking desperately at the back of those human hips to vise him there, to show him how much he absolutely **needed** to be fucked to completion. He crashed his lips to Yusei’s once more and lost himself in the taste of his mouth, dragging his nails with a fervent urgency down his lover’s back to grip his rear while his body was punished by the shock of the man’s passion.

 

They shared a sudden moan when Yusei pulled the elf’s legs at an even steeper angle around him, and words punched out of him after he struggled to restrain his breathless panting enough to speak.

 

“ _—I won’t last much longer like this—_ ”

 

“ _—I won’t either—_ ”

 

They both knew the end was terribly imminent, with muscles cramping and the white hot inferno blazing right through the taut coils within, _so close_ to snapping that neither of them could form coherent thoughts about anything besides erupting with each other. The Prince’s hand darted rapidly to his own length, gripping it urgently as his legs began to quake.

 

“ _—come undone with me—_ ”

 

And with those jarring last thrusts, the seed of Yusei’s love spilled into him and filled him to the brim of his being with a sense of warmth and wholeness that he had never fathomed existed, and immediately he too unraveled with a trembling cling, throwing his arms as tightly around his lover’s torso as he could manage and biting passionately into his shoulder. Their joined cry echoed throughout the wood for leagues, swallowed in the end by nature as if it had been snatched and hidden like a lost treasure, never to be found again.

 

Their panting bodies slumped into the furs, boneless and exhausted, the thought of so much as sitting upright a distant and impossible dream in the face of their utter fatigue. Atem had barely the strength to draw a pelt over Yusei’s back to keep the cold from reaching them.

 

For moments they did not speak, merely allowing their draw of breath to return to its usual rhythm, Atem’s fingers gently tracing shapes of the constellations and creatures of the deep into human skin, and in return Yusei’s heavy body on top of him sustained the feeling of absolute security whilst he too allowed his claws to roam freely over the side of his lover’s neck and torso. Finally, when the swordsman found the strength to shift to Atem’s side, he drew the elf in for a long, tender kiss, and in that instant neither of them could see anything wrong with the world, for the world had become solely each other, the fire beside them, and the hollow that shielded them from the elements. They kissed again, and again, unable to drink deeply enough from the fruits of their blossomed love.

 

Slowly, acknowledgement of the outside bled into their world when the horses whickered again. It was then that Atem realized they had only until sunrise before their problems came again at full force.

 

“I don’t want this to end,” he whispered, still grazing Yusei’s lips as he spoke, and he led the swordsman’s forehead to rest gently against his. Together, they sighed, and Yusei lagged to speak, his voice small.

 

“It will, no matter what we may want…”

 

The Prince’s charoite eyes opened, drawing back just enough that he could view his partner more clearly. His heart quickly felt the pang of devastation shatter the comfort of the afterglow when he found Yusei’s desolation had returned. Darkness touched his pools of tanzanite, painting them with inky shades of sorrow, and Atem knew all too well the man was already beginning to think of the long and hard road ahead, of the possibilities of death and suffering, of how time was running short and his curse would rip the humanity from him completely in just a few moons; by then, all of the intimacy and affection they felt for one another now would be lost forever.

 

Perhaps making love now would only prove to maim Atem’s heart more severely later, after he had turned permanently.

 

Something, violent and furtive, shaded his expression that the elf could not discern.

 

Atem couldn’t allow him to harbor those thoughts, not when he could see how they cut him so sharply. Endearingly stroking the apple of his companion’s cheek, he contemplated for minutes on a solution, not just words that he knew would be of no use to Yusei.

 

Suddenly, the furrow of his brows eased.

 

“I know a handful of powerful mages in my own country whose knowledge in magick far surpasses my own. If anyone can break your curse, they can.” Atem’s hands cupped around both of his lover’s cheeks now, holding his gaze in a lock with his own. “Come back to Dramyria with me, Yusei. We’ll find a way to free you from your chains—I swear it.”

 

Yusei’s hues lost all of their torment, and for seconds he could not speak as he merely stared back at Atem with eyes wide, struggling for words. “Would we make it back in time?”

 

“You mentioned that Hemera connects to the bay. We can take a ship back to Kincardine and ride to the southern coast, where we can take another ship to Dramyria. Sailing to the capital is only a two-week voyage, less if the winds favor us. It would take about a cycle in total for us to return.”

 

“I can’t turn on a ship. It could kill everyone aboard.”

 

“We’ll depart for Dramyria the day after the full moons.”

 

Yusei’s lips settled in a line as he thought over Atem’s plan and was unable to come up with a better solution. Upon more deliberation, he realized it was the best option he had, but he nonetheless despised having to rely on his companion’s generosity to solve his own problems.

 

“Isn’t knowingly bringing back a daemon to your country the last thing you would want to do?” he asked, deliberating the repercussions. “Isn’t that… treason?”

 

Again flared up the harsh tug on Atem’s soul to reveal his identity, but he pushed it quickly aside, not wanting to ponder the grey line of deception, especially when his father’s words still echoed demandingly at the back of his mind. Besides, he reasoned, if Yusei were to agree, it would all be revealed in due time.

 

“You would be receiving help directly from the King’s Tribunal. Many cases of curses and fleeing persecution have been brought before them, and together they always act fairly. Our law is just; they have no reason to punish you.”

 

Yusei’s gaze flickered down when Atem reached for and cradled his hands in his own, stroking the black pelage, that for the first time, Yusei could imagine returning to human skin. A glimmer of hope touched his eyes after it hadn’t in many years, just like when he looked up at the stars in the sky as a child and found endless possibilities before him, his heart set to race wildly in his chest with optimism.

 

Atem caught sight of it immediately, a tentative smile gracing his lips.

 

“Will you come with me?”

 

“I will.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Wind chimes tinkled gently in the grassland winds, and high in the constellations, the stars collected in the Sky Mother’s arms and rained slowly down into the earth’s atmosphere. A body formed, scales layering on as the Guardian materialized, and mighty, shimmering wings took flight on the jet streams for the first time in years, diving dramatically towards the earth like a flaming, falling star. The winds followed at her heels, and when at last she landed as gently as a feather atop the center pole of a tent, the chimes rang loudly with the current.

 

A head of chestnut dreadlocks shot up from a pillow, disturbed suddenly from sleep and disoriented as its owner attempted to get a grasp on her surroundings. Cool air filtered in from the entrance flap, which had clearly been drawn open only seconds ago with the way it swung back into place, the ropes holding it shut during the cold nights having been undone.

 

Suspecting one of her children, her glance flickered to the other cots in the tent. All four of them slept soundly, huddled around the metal furnace which glowed softly with its dying embers.

 

Something moved outside. Another great gust of wind kicked up the flap and sent her hurrying towards it and thrusting out into the foggy air to investigate. In all directions, there was nothing to be found, darkness blanketing the entire camp and all of the surrounding tents. Nothing stirred.

 

She glanced down, finally, and at her feet she found the glitter of stardust, sparkling ivory and cerulean littered all over the wigwam and the grass surrounding. Her mahogany gaze flickered upwards to the sky as a feeling struck her square in the chest.

 

Longing. Misery. Mourning.

 

Hope.

 

If Stardust had returned, it _had to mean something._

 

“Yusei… _tell me you’re alive._ ”

 

Martha stood alone in the icy air outside her tent for many moments more, beckoning the Sky to answer the question she had begged for countless moons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Stood with six summers/to stand with [number of years since birth] [season in which they were born]: a phrase to denote how old a person is at a particular time/in current day
> 
> Please comment and let me know what you thought!


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